


January & December

by peppermintquartz



Series: Bleachverse [7]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Age Difference, like major age difference, post-Over All Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5646385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Urahara Kisuke and Kurosaki Ichigo find themselves drawn to each other.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> Over on FFdotnet, this was titled Not About You.

 

Urahara passed the cat's feeding bowl to Ichigo, who placed it on the ground nearby. Yuki, the black cat, materialized out of nowhere and delicately padded to his food, taking care to stand in the center of the newspaper Ichigo was reading. The youth was sprawled on his stomach near the porch, trying to get as much breeze as possible.

With a sigh Ichigo gently tried to dislodge the cat. Yuki had moved in for a week, and already it was the undisputed ruler of all he surveyed. Evidently it had managed to inherit some of its previous owners' characteristics: Yuki sank his claws into the paper, and Ichigo ended up with long strips of text.

“You know better than that, Ichigo,” chided Urahara as he sat down beside his one-time student and current lessee of a room in the Shoten. “Everything here belongs to Yuki.”

“Like hell they do,” remarked Ichigo without any real heat.

The quiet nuzzle of Yuki in the pet food and the shuffle of paper were the only sounds in the Shoten this evening. Urahara leaned back against the cool wall. “When is Kira coming over?”

“He said next week, with dad and Ikkaku.” Ichigo plopped his chin on his hands. He was sticky and sweaty – this place was too hot. “I told the girls too.”

“Be nice to see the old fool,” said Urahara wistfully.

That was about all the conversation they could make. It has been one week since Yuki's owners departed, and Ichigo still woke up, cold with sweat, with the memory of the dead, of Aizen slumped over Ichimaru. It was what he thought he had wanted to bring about, but having it shoved down his throat – and every other shinigami in Soul Society's – meant the impact ran a little too deep.

If only they had died by other means. But in the face of death, Ichimaru had selected his own path, and Aizen had taken care of remaining details before claiming his own life as well. No power to the shinigami, no real closure for the bereft.

If only they had died by other means.

“Tessai is late,” commented Urahara out of nowhere. Ichigo jumped a little. Already Yuki was off to the side, licking his paws slowly, as if he had the rest of eternity. The blond stood up, looking concerned. “They should've been back by now.”

Ichigo scrambled to his feet. Perhaps he would need to take the shinigami form. For the twenty-year-old, it was second nature to rely on Zangetsu and shinigami abilities. But Urahara merely pulled out a mobile phone and pressed a number.

“Yeah, Tessai... I see. I see.... Be careful though. How are the kids?” Urahara nodded and paced the room. “Mmmm. But... oh. Okay.”

Ichigo scratched the back of his head. His sisters were at their class camp, Jinta, Ururu and Tessai had been to pick up their boss's purchases, and he had a splitting headache. _The perfect evening. And I have a ton of research to do for my essay._

“We've to fend for ourselves tonight,” said Urahara after clicking his phone off. “Apparently Ururu won a round-trip ticket to Hokkaido for four, and she grabbed Kon to follow her, Jinta and Tessai.”

“Huh?” Ichigo was thoroughly lost. “Shouldn't they pack some clothes and such?”

“Ururu tends to be somewhat... single-minded. Not even Tessai can handle her in those situations.” The blond chuckled. Then he nudged Ichigo's side with his foot. “Come on. We need to get cooking or we don't get dinner.”

“Why not just call in a pizza or something?” grumbled Ichigo halfheartedly.

Urahara shuddered. “Unhealthy food.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The silence wrapped like a shroud.

Neither wanted to talk about it, despite the fact that (A) it was way too late for them to be reading, (B) they were still sitting together in the same room and (C) they kept stealing glances at each other's troubled expressions.

Finally Ichigo gave in to fatigue. “Night, Urahara.”

“Good night, Ichigo.” Urahara abandoned the use of honorifics after Ichigo moved in, with the reasoning that, as Ichigo's landlord, he had every right to call Ichigo by his full name as often as necessary. Not that he hounded the orange-haired youth for rent: Ichigo trained Jinta and Ururu as payment, while Karin and Yuzu (when they stayed there) were excellent fun and good cooks.

As Ichigo made his way out of the main room, Urahara wondered if he should find Yoruichi and talk the issue over. The suicide of his ex-lover shook him to the core, and he was trying to grieve. On the other hand, Yoruichi and Aizen had never gotten along, and she would not be receptive at all.

He decided to let it be. Eventually an idea would come to him. They always did.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ichigo tossed and turned roughly. He was still having difficulty sleeping, despite the calm that now spread through the house. What used to be small fights between Jinta and Ururu had been silenced into something akin to peace – and it bothered Ichigo.

The groaning of the house as it settled thundered across his nerves. That creak in the floorboards sounded more piercing than usual. He could vaguely hear the slow dripping from the gutters, due to the downpour in the late afternoon. And then there was a low whisper that he couldn't identify, right on the edge of his hearing.

In the end Ichigo gave up and plodded to the kitchen for a drink. There probably was a carton of milk inside the fridge he could finish up, since Yoruichi wasn't likely to be around for the next couple of months. As he made his way down the far too empty corridor he heard music from Urahara's room.

The music was played very quietly, and Ichigo wondered why the irrepressible shopkeeper didn't just blast it on full volume since there was only Ichigo around the house. It wasn't as if Urahara was famed for his consideration of others. After a moment's hesitation Ichigo slid Urahara's door open.

The blond sat at his low table, the futon beyond rumpled. Evidently the man had been unable to sleep as well. His back was turned to Ichigo. The green yukata he wore as a sleeping robe was unfamiliar to the young shinigami-substitute; after five years of living with the crazy family Ichigo thought he knew Urahara's wardrobe pretty well – he had made it a point never to buy anything that has appeared in there. A small bottle of sake was on the table, as well as a bowl Urahara was filling up again.

“I'm fine, Ichigo. Go get whatever you were intending to get, then go back to sleep.” Urahara didn't bother looking at Ichigo at the door.

Instead of complying, Ichigo stepped into the room and slid the door shut. “What is that piece of music?”

“Moonlight Sonata.” Urahara looked down. Ichigo walked around to the other side of the table so he could see his landlord's face. The blond appeared fatigued. “They loved it a lot.”

“They?” Ichigo wondered which of the blond's comrades was on his mind. There were evenings like this when Kyoraku or even Ukitake came by Urahara's place, and they reminisced over people Ichigo had never heard of.

Urahara smiled pensively. “Sousuke and Gin.”

The redhead was startled. He didn't know Urahara was on good enough terms with the traitors – the dead traitors – to call them by their names. He was always referring to them as Aizen and Ichimaru to Ichigo and the rest. “They did?”

“They thought music and art were the two things humans did right,” said Urahara, gazing at a hidden horizon. “Sou always loved classical music. Evidently Gin was influenced by his lover's tastes too – when I last saw him this piece was playing in the background.”

“You saw him? When?” Trust Ichigo to identify the most troublesome piece of information.

Urahara drained his bowl again. “The day Gin collapsed for the first time, Sousuke called Unohana, and she called me. I went to Aizen's to set up a communication link between the two.”

Ichigo was stunned. Unohana had known of their presence in... wait a second. Urahara also knew, but pretended he didn't when Ichigo mentioned it to him... what the hell?

“If you're irritated that I lied to you, it's over now, alright?” snapped the blond as he splashed another bit of sake into his bowl. Some of his finer stuff, if Ichigo remembered his sake lessons from Kyoraku rightly. “I knew them before you and your mum were born.”

Ichigo frowned. Urahara wasn't himself. At the worst of times Urahara never took his temper out on others. He studied the scruffy face before him carefully, and then realized that Urahara was grieving.

“Urahara-”

“If you tell me to let the tears out I'll kill you,” said the shopkeeper thickly. He glared red-eyed at the young man. “And don't think I can't, despite your fancy bankai and vizard powers.”

“Never even thought it,” said Ichigo. “But drinking isn't the way to stop feeling.”

“Does the job well enough.” The music had stopped.

Ichigo grabbed the bottle and the bowl away, leaping to his feet. He got to the window and threw the two out just as Urahara reached his side, grappling for the items. They could hear the crockery smash into the darkness.

Urahara stared at Ichigo. “I have other bottles.”

“I can keep doing this,” countered Ichigo. He softened. “You've been doing this since... since that day, haven't you?”

The gray-green eyes narrowed. “So what if I have?”

“Snap out of it. No wonder Tessai took the kids away.” Ichigo scoffed in disgust. “I bet he tried to reason with you and you also threatened him, didn't you?”

Urahara glared at the orange mop of unruly hair; Ichigo was looking out the window, but continued, “We have other things to do, Urahara. I guess it must have been quite a blow, but you knew it had to happen eventually since they are our enemies.”

“Sousuke was my friend before he was my foe,” said Urahara softly.

Ichigo turned around. “So what? He's gone,” he said bluntly. “Besides, he's probably being reincarnated as we speak. Why are you upset now?”

The blond's eyes shut wearily. “Because... I feel something for them both.”

Ichigo stepped closer, trying to force eye contact. “What, pity?”

“No, guilt.” He looked up into warm brown eyes, similar yet dissimilar. “Ichigo, Sousuke shouldn't have turned out that way. It was my fault. And because he became who he was, he dragged Gin into his wake. And that was also my fault. I had a chance to separate them very early in their liaison and I-”

“Fucking bullshit.”

Urahara blinked. Ichigo seldom swore.

He was looking annoyed and solemn now. “You didn't make his choices for him, Urahara. Gin chose Aizen, Aizen chose world domination, they chose to destroy my world for their own gains. It's not all about you, you self-centered prick.”

The shopkeeper fell silent. He was quiet for such a long moment that the young man thought he had offended Urahara permanently. Ichigo scrubbed his hair, trying to phrase the idea in more comforting words. Instead he was surprised by Urahara turning his face with a finger to face him.

“Thank you, Ichigo.”

Ichigo quirked a lopsided smile. “You're welcome.”

That bit of tension eased, both of them abruptly realized they were in a very interesting position. Ichigo's elbows rested on the window ledge, while Urahara had a hand braced on the wall framing the window and a finger on Ichigo's cheek. To make matters a little more interesting, Ichigo's legs were planted together while Urahara's feet were shoulder-width apart. Which was a lot wider than the space between their faces.

Even with the light in Urahara's room Ichigo couldn't make out the blond's features clearly, his sudden embarrassment flooding his face and blurring his vision. Said blond was also reacting, especially to the earlier smile and the current pink over Ichigo's cheeks.

“Ichigo.”

“Yeah.” He didn't look at Urahara directly, but the sidelong glance was oddly frank.

Urahara decided to try. He could always blame the alcohol, or Ichigo's darkening blush and parted lips, or the atmosphere within the room. The worst thing that could happen was for Ichigo to kill him and, as the young man had said, he'd be reincarnated anyway.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ichigo woke up, feeling like Yuki had crawled into his mouth and died.

Then he felt the limb draped over his waist, and the legs that curled around him, and the warm breath brushing over his skin, and finally something that pressed into the base of his spine.

_Oh my god. Last night... last night. We didn't... shit. We did._

He shuffled a little to peek behind him, and was rewarded with a headful of blond hair and a scruffy, unshaven jaw scraping over his shoulder with a relaxed murmur. Ichigo screwed his eyes shut. Was the pounding of his heart the result of exhilaration... or terror... or relief?

 


	2. 2.

 

Urahara loved whatever he was smelling. It smelled familiar and new, clean and erotic.

Then his brain kicked in with a huge message in bold: **You Are Going To Hell.**

And, to emphasize the point, his conscience drew two lines under the sentence. **You Are Going To Hell.**

Urahara Kisuke opened his eyes to a mass of soft orange hair. Years of practice meant he could maintain his lax breathing pattern even while he panicked inwardly.

_I actually slept with him. I slept with Isshin's son! I am so very, very dead. Note to self: do NOT let Isshin know._

_I wish Ichigo wouldn't shift his legs... oh god. He's not awake, not yet. Is there a way out of this?_

_Look at how the morning light brings out the color of his hair. And his bare shoulder... I want to nibble on him..._

_Bad, bad Kisuke. Down, boy. I said DOWN. Shit._

_Shit, he is going to kill me._

Ichigo sighed and Urahara shut off his groan. He had a growing problem and there was no way he could untangle himself from Ichigo without waking him up. Wait. Ichigo was awake already. And he was twisting around in his arms to examine Urahara.

Was that shock in his eyes? Or happiness? Or murderous intent?

Despite the worries that flashed through Urahara's mind, he nevertheless had to bend to kiss the younger man. His stubbled chin scratched against smooth skin – skin that Urahara wanted to touch and explore again, without the haze of alcohol dulling his senses – and Ichigo stiffened when the older man muttered a 'good morning'.

Urahara drew back. No, it had been a mistake last night. He saw that now.

He had given in to his confused feelings about Sousuke. He misinterpreted the look the young man gave him, and, Ichigo being Ichigo, let Urahara pour out his catharsis freely into him.

Sometimes Ichigo was just too kind.

“Good morning,” said Ichigo hoarsely. He turned away, clearly embarrassed. “Um...”

“It's alright, Ichigo.” Urahara sighed and shuffled to the edge of his futon, pulling on his pants they had discarded by the side. He needed the shower now. “We'll talk later. If you want.”

“Y-yeah.”

Urahara didn't miss seeing how his lessee tugged the sheets closer about his frame, as if he was again a shy fifteen-year-old.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

As the tepid water rushed over him Urahara tried not to recall how pliant and willing that taut body had been last night. The hungry gaze as Urahara licked along the arms, sucked on the strong fingers; the lean thighs that parted under his urging and curled around him; that tight, incredible heat.

“Fuck,” Urahara murmured. He was feeling lightheaded and not just from alcohol.

He could picture Ichigo right now, naked and wet and kneeling before him, taking Urahara into his mouth. He could feel that tongue that had fought for dominance on his most sensitive skin. He could hear the moans and half-choked gasps from that throat that begged to be sucked.

“Fuck...” The climax came quickly, Urahara's imaginative mind more than capable of producing some truly graphic visuals. “Ichigo... Ichigo. Damn...”

It had been a good few years since Urahara was this affected by anyone physically. All the while he had been contented with his experiments, his toys and inventions. Occasionally he and Yoruichi engaged in some play, but she was a free spirit and he was happy to let her wander as much as she pleased.

The only other person who had had the capability to reduce Urahara to pure physical lust was Aizen Sousuke. God, the fire they had shared... None of his other lovers ever came close to it. Aizen probably found a better one in Ichimaru, but Urahara knew Aizen craved an equal more than an adoring slave in bed. Sometimes the brunet had even desired to be forced into submission.

And he was gone now, gone forever. Aizen and Ichimaru, both.

The thought was the ice-cold shower Urahara needed.

“Damn you, Sou,” Urahara groaned as he leaned his head on the tile, finally turning off the taps. “Damn you to hell. Damn you to hell.”

And the tears came, hard and fast and quietly. They splashed soundlessly to the tiled floor, disappearing into the wetness. Like how Aizen Sousuke had left his life. Only someone who was in the shower with Urahara would have seen him cursing Aizen for not even saying goodbye.

Gradually Urahara regained his control. At the sink, he washed his face thoroughly, making sure the reddened eyes were not too obvious. He had other problems to deal with.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

When he returned to his room Ichigo was still there.

That was a surprise. Urahara thought that Ichigo would skitter off to his own room and never see his landlord alone again. Once again, he was mistaken.

At least the young man was washed and dressed. He shifted uncomfortably. Urahara wondered if he had hurt Ichigo last night, then decided that Ichigo probably was just too sore. Or perhaps too angry.

“About last night-” began the older man, but was cut off by fiercely tender brown eyes.

Ichigo got to his feet, his natural grace slightly stilted. “About last night.”

Urahara shifted, then squared his shoulders. He deserved whatever Ichigo wanted to do to him. The blond took a deep breath and rushed headlong into his apology. “I'm sorry, I gave in to temptation, I was feeling really shitfucked and you were there, and then you didn't turn away so I assumed... If you wish to leave, move out, whatever, I'll help.”

Ichigo stared at him. “What are you talking about?” he managed to ask eventually. Urahara raised his brows. Ichigo folded his arms over his chest and said, “Are you that eager to get rid of me? You really hate me that much that you want me gone?”

“What? No!” Aghast, Urahara's protest shot out immediately.

“Then why are you telling me to go?”

“I just – I thought... you're... you're okay with last night?”

Ichigo shrugged. “It's confusing... but I'm pretty alright with it. Which is sorta confusing in itself. And I just want to know if...” the orange-haired youth chewed on his lower lip. “Were you serious?”

Urahara's heart skipped a beat. The answer took a long time in coming. “Yes.”

“Then I guess...” Ichigo nibbled his upper lip now. “I'm just... wondering if... if you can give me some time to think about... about us?”

The shopkeeper nodded silently. It was a reasonable request. Then he frowned. “You just said... Ichigo, are we 'us'?”

Ichigo scratched the back of his head. “Eh well.. it's not like I'm okay with casual sex, and we did... um, you know... and... well, long answer short. I'd want there to be an 'us', if you're okay with it.”

Urahara swallowed. He had not committed himself to anyone for a long, long time. Not even to Yoruichi or Sousuke, despite both of them being equally important to him. He mulled over the suggestion, aware that Ichigo was probably confused and nervous, and was yet still brave enough to open the way to his heart.

Perhaps it was time for Urahara to stop his roaming and find a place to rest.

“I...” started Urahara, but he didn't continue. He inhaled strongly and said, “I think I'll be okay with it.”

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. Then his face relaxed. “I suppose that's the best from you right now then. I gotta go.”

Urahara felt bad for the young man. But the ghosts of his memory nipped at his heels, and Urahara soured to recall the times Sousuke had taken him in again after Urahara abandoned the brunet for Yoruichi. The increasingly-familiar guilt surfaced. Was Urahara ready to settle?

His reluctance to do so had indirectly shut off Sousuke's ability to empathize. Urahara knew Ichigo would scoff and call him self-centered for thinking in such a way, but Urahara knew that Aizen Sousuke was dedicated to causes and he, Urahara Kisuke, had been such a cause once.

Had he been a smidgen more loyal, had he owned the capability to be monogamous, had he been satisfied with one man who was a match for his intellect and his libido, then Aizen would have been a powerful captain, loyal and devoted to the Gotei. Gin would have been just another shinigami, smart, eccentric, happy with his lot in life.

Perhaps not as happy as they had been after they found each other, but happy enough.

They would still be alive. That was important. That was the most important.

But then Urahara wouldn't have met Ururu and Jinta. He couldn't have experienced all that he had since exiled to the human world. And he definitely wouldn't have had an unforgettable night with the youth now striding past him and out of the shoten's main door.

“Damn.” Urahara kicked futilely at the door frame. Ichigo was upset, and understandably so. Urahara hadn't wanted to lie to him though. He had lied before, fooled too many people, and one by one these webs were being torn apart.

He had had enough of lies and illusions.

 


	3. 3.

Ichigo swung his zanpakuto idly, easily dispatching the medium-sized hollow. All was calm, all was bright: under the orange street lamps even the substitute shinigami's hair looked normal.

“There has to be more,” he groused softly. “Come on, come on... I'm radiating enough reiatsu to draw you guys, aren't I?”

“You always in the habit of talkin' to yerself, shinigami?”

 _Yes!_ Ichigo looked up to see – _drat_ – a familiar shape crouched low on a roof. Sighing resignedly, Ichigo sheathed Zangetsu. “Hi, Grimmjow.”

“Hey yourself.” The former Espada jumped and landed easily in front of Ichigo. “I could feel yer rumblings all the way at Sado's place. Wassup? You goin' nuts?”

“You wish.”

The feral grin glinted in the yellowish light. “Course I do. Then I can kick that arse outta your inner hollow. Damn maniac kept laughing at my hair the last time we met up.”

“I'm not unleashing him again, Grimm, so let's leave it, eh?” Ichigo and Grimmjow fell into step easily. The teal-haired hollow stuck his hands in his pockets, occasionally scratching at his jaw where the bone mask used to be. Ichigo had got used to the new look by now, but privately he felt that the mask-less Grimmjow was far more approachable (and more sane) than the Espada Grimmjow. Surprisingly he and Chad had struck up an unlikely brotherhood, and while Chad was away in college (all the way in Touda: Ichigo hadn't made the cut) Grimmjow took care of the apartment, working as a waiter and a boxing instructor.

Grimmjow looked up into the cloudy sky. “Sure is hot.”

“Sure is.”

“So what's your trouble, eh? I gotta know what the fuck got me up from a very restful sleep.”

“Sorry to have disturbed your rest,” said Ichigo snidely. “Were you resting from the beating up Tatsuki gave you yesterday at the dojo?”

Grimmjow growled. “Hey, I coulda beaten her. Just don't like defeatin' her in front of her students.”

Ichigo chuckled dryly. “Don't let her hear that.”

If Ichigo was not mistaken, Grimmjow and Tatsuki were coming to a very tentative understanding, inasmuch as the fact that Tatsuki always ended up in some sort of fistfight with the much larger Grimmjow whenever Ichigo met up with them. But they seemed to enjoy the other's company, so Ichigo planned to just sit back and watch.

Grimmjow planted himself onto a park bench. “So. Answer my question.”

Taking a seat opposite, Ichigo huffed. “It's nothin'. Just felt restless.”

“Oh?” Grimmjow leaned back, forearms cushioning his head. “So it's not Urahara I smell on yer, eh?”

“Wha-that's not possible, I washed every - how did you... damn.” Ichigo glared at the grin on his one-time adversary's face. “I walked straight into that, didn't I?”

“Yes and no,” answered Grimmjow, the light of malicious glee in his eyes. “I didn't guess you'd cop to it so easily. I do smell him on you though, but that's natural; you guys live in the same house, you share many objects... but there's something distinctively _him_ on ya.”

“You have an extremely irritating nose, y'know that?”

“So what's eatin' ya, shinigami?” Grimmjow stretched, very catlike.

Ichigo got to his feet. “Nothing. Just stupid stuff with Urahara.” Talking with Grimmjow reminded Ichigo of how much he missed Chad's reassuring presence and solid support. “Is Chad coming home for the holidays?”

“Yeah.” Grimmjow examined his nails. “I'll just find out from him, y'know.”

“Chad would never tell you what I ask him to keep secret.” Ichigo smirked. He waved the teal-haired almost-friend goodbye as he sped home.

But as he neared the Shoten he began to slow.

 _Home._ That was supposed to be a warm and cozy place, with crazy people you love and who loves you because they were entirely nuts. However Ichigo dreaded going back into the Shoten after that morning's awkward conversation.

Ichigo knew himself to be no coward. Steeling himself, he went home.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

“I'm back,” Ichigo called out to a darkened entryway.

He wondered where his landlord was, it was so silent. Had he gone out? But Urahara seldom if ever left his place unattended.

“Urahara?”

No response.

Ichigo rubbed his nose, a habit he had while thinking. He decided to bathe instead, clear his head, and perhaps he could see the blond tomorrow -

_An hour ago you didn't want to, and now you can't wait to see him? Schizo, aren't we?_

“Shut up,” muttered Ichigo, annoyed.

“No one was talking.”

The voice behind him shocked Ichigo. He whirled around, fist already cocked to pummel the intruder to the ground. His fist was easily caught.

Urahara grinned uncomfortably. “Was that intended for me or for a stranger?”

Getting his wits back, Ichigo breathed out. “You startled me.”

The blond was wearing a shihakusho. Ichigo was stunned – Urahara in shinigami garb was not a sight he had witnessed before. Where had Urahara been? What had he been doing?

“I apologise.” Urahara let go of Ichigo's right hand. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, I had dinner.” Polite words, as if they hadn't woke up that morning in the same bed sans clothes.

“Good.”

Without any more words Urahara pushed past Ichigo and headed for the backroom, where the entrance to the underground training cavern was located. The young man hesitated, trying to decide if he should follow Urahara or take a shower first. He hadn't bathed, merely came home, exited his body, and prowled the streets.

Logic prevailed.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

“I assure you, Ichigo, if I were doing anything dangerous I'd let you know,” said Urahara, a shade of reproving irritation in his tone.

Ichigo ignored the implicit warning to keep away. “I just wanted to find out for myself. What are you doing?”

“Just preparing the gate. I'd like to visit Hueco Mundo for a bit while the rest are away.” Urahara fiddled with his controls. “Something's blocking the way though, like there is a dense wall between the two realities. Hmm.”

“No hmm. No going.” Ichigo stepped in front of Urahara. The youth glared at the shopkeeper. “You want a gate opened, ask Grimmjow. He'll do it for you. Without Tessai around, you might get stuck there. Either that, or take me with you.”

Urahara raised his eyebrows. Ichigo matched it with a patented I-am-Kurosaki-Ichigo-the-vizard-do- _not-_ mess-with-me stare. The two stood that way for a long moment.

Finlly Urahara spoke. “I should leave, Ichigo. I can't guarantee that I won't take advantage of you... while I'm still lost. I can't...You asked if I'm okay with there being an 'us'. I-I am not.”

Ichigo swallowed and almost gagged. It was what he had suspected since this morning, when the shopkeeper had avoided his eyes and given a strange, roundabout answer. But to hear it so baldly... He reminded himself to keep breathing.

Unaware of the fact that all the oxygen in the room had fled, Urahara went on. “I can't tell you that I want to... to play a greater part of your life than I do now. But I look at you... I look at you and I want...”

Knowing what Urahara wanted, Ichigo wet his mouth as best as he could. “You already asked Grimmjow, didn't you?”

“How did you know?” blurted Urahara. Then he sighed. Then he nodded.

“And he told you to stay here, didn't he?”

“Yes, he did,” said Urahara. Then he forced a chuckle. “He's quite the perceptive person.”

“He smelt me on you. And vice versa.” Ichigo grinned faintly. There was no humor in that smile though. Urahara ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Ichigo glanced away, at the grimy floor, at the faux trees that they finally 'planted'. Ichigo inhaled deeply. He was no coward. He would take that step. “Ura – Kisuke.”

The man jolted his head up to look at the orange-haired youth. “Don't.”

“Kisuke,” repeated Ichigo more firmly. “I don't want to force the issue about – about us, but don't go haring off in Hueco Mundo until Soul Society flushes out the remaining arrancar. If you do, I'll follow and beat you to an inch of your life.”

Urahara turned away. Eventually his shoulders slumped. “Fine.”

Ichigo twitched a small smile. At least they got one week together. Maybe Ichigo would prefer the way things were, or maybe they could find a way forward.

He could hope.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ichigo dreamed a lot less these days.

In the first year or so, battles raged endlessly in his head, twisting the outcomes, reanimating the dead, killing the innocent in his subconscious. He often woke up screaming for Rukia to wake up, or for Renji to stop bleeding and just stand up and fight, or for his father – that was always the worst – for his father to get his stupid moronic ass out of that wreckage and teach his son a lesson.

These days his dreams were more normal. A few nights he dreamed of becoming a shinigami captain. Occasionally there would be a dream of his confronting Aizen. And after the two's suicides, he had also dreamed of them drinking tea by a well-kept garden, Ichimaru's and Aizen's hands bearing thin silver rings with a diamond and a ruby. They looked happy.

Ichigo also dreamed of darkness, and freedom, and intense loneliness as well.

On this night an old favorite surfaced in his mind.

Tonight he had to watch Renji face off against Ichimaru, and he knew Rukia would dart in front of her beloved at the last second, taking the death-stroke meant for Renji. Again.

He knew he was dreaming, and he couldn't wake up. Not from the smile that graced Ichimaru's face, not the way he had tasted the blood on the blade, not the blank expression in Renji's bloodied face.

However this time there was a difference. Suddenly Ichigo was the one facing off Ichimaru.

He was going to miss parrying that unexpected stroke from below. He would be the one watching Rukia die-

Urahara darted in front of Ichigo, sword in hand-

Kisuke darted in front of Ichigo, deflecting the blow with Benihime, then calling his noble princess to attack. Ichigo followed behind with Getsuga Tenshou, his bankai version, his black cloak fluttering around him as they pressed forward over Ichimaru's bankai-

They pressed together, blond hair and redhead, blades matching, clashing, sliding. The shrill scrape of metal on metal was gratingly harsh. Ichigo snarled; the son of a bitch was no match for himself at full power-

Kisuke hovered above him, darkened eyes, hungry mouth; that unfamiliar yet arousing friction of their erections grounding together. Ichigo arched his neck for Kisuke to taste. The slow glide of skin on skin-

Skin covered with black fabric. Kisuke's perpetually under-tanned complexion was becoming flushed. His eyes were covered but his hands were still roaming far too intimately over Ichigo's naked torso, over his chest, peaking his nipples with gentle suction-

Hot, wet mouth over Ichigo's arousal, the head of blond hair bobbing as Kisuke sucked and pressed to the base and licked his way up-

“Kisuke,” moaned Ichigo, semi-awake now. He ached to feel. To feel anything to ease that terrible longing, that thirst. The darkness was stifling, wrapping around Ichigo like a thick blanket. It was entirely dark, and Ichigos senses strained to their limits. He tried to turn away from that darkness calling out to him. It slid over his skin, calming his turbulent mind. Ichigo licked his far too dry lips, his togue thick and unwieldy. His hands were weighed down, as were his legs, but he was still achingly hard. The caress of hair-roughened legs over his thighs; callused fingers wrapping about him. The sharp edge of a canine on his earlobe. Hot, hot breath that mingled with his own...He wished he could shut away that sensation-

Rough hands embraced him and finally he bent both his knees and his back arched to the phantom touches belonging to a half-remembered night. A blinding white light shot through Ichigo's mind as he released, head lolling to the side, caught between slumber and consciousness.

_That was fun, King. Active imagination you got there. The sun just blazed like a fucking supernova here._

Hearing nothing, Ichigo turned over in his sleep. “Kisuke,” murmured Ichigo, the name spilling out breathily. “Kisuke.”

Outside the sliding door, a sleepless shopkeeper stood, uncertain of his next step.

 

 


	4. 4.

“ _Kisuke... Kisuke.”_

Urahara placed his flat palm on the door. He could feel the unsteady inhale-exhale rhythm of the youth's chest, the heated breath dusting over fine the blond hairs of his arm. He could feel the sweat-dampened skin arching into his touch. He could feel Ichigo wanting him and receiving him.

No, he couldn't. He couldn't feel it. He fancied he could, but all he was was projecting his own desires on a young man who had once been his protege.

He wished he could. He knew that, if he slid that door open now, go in and lie down next to that young man, Ichigo would again turn to him and give him everything. He knew it, and it was somewhat a miracle that Urahara chose to step back and head for the hot spring downstairs.

Perhaps _that_ heat could ease the cold from his bones.

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As he rested his head back on a comfortable stone, Urahara reflected on his actions the past five years. Both his own and Ichigo's. No. Not Ichigo. Just his own. Urahara made a mental promise not to go near Ichigo at all, either physically or mentally.

He had to draw a line.

At first Urahara had only offered to take all three Kurosaki kids in out of sympathy. Then, like families do, the children grew on him. The boisterous evenings of Karin and Jinta arguing, of Yuzu and Ururu's culinary spectaculers and of Ichigo's frequent – _wait. No Ichigo_. The trio of girls had turned Jinta into an obedient little boy (Yuzu tamed his wilder tendencies with hot taro pie and a beaming smile; no one could stand against that smile) who did his chores and followed Yuzu around, puffed up chest and broadcasting bright helpful eagerness.

He had the paperwork filled out for their fostering only when Yuzu and Karin reminded him that they needed proper records for their high school applications. He wanted to forge them, but Ichigo insisted on legality. Anyway, that snag had been sorted out.

Then the girls moved to Tatsuki's because of a stupid explosion caused by, well, alright, one of his botched experiments ( _“And when it goes kaplooie like sixty-eight percent of your little creations, you have to start all over again.”_ ). Even with Jinta, Ururu and he-who-shall-not-be-named around, the house seemed a little emptier.

And then there had been the nightmares after the Winter War, which dragged into spring before Sousuke abandoned the battlefield.

Yuzu had Karin and Karin had Yuzu, and both girls had Ururu. Jinta was only involved peripherally and Tessai was like a father to him. Urahara was jaded enough not to be too bothered, but Ichigo, who had shared the spacious room with Urahara, wasn't.

So he had heard the silent screams as Ichigo fought for breath. Urahara had been the one sitting by the bed, waiting for the ghosts of Ichigo's memories to fade away by holding the boy as he thrashed and battled his foes. Urahara had been the one tempering the erratic rise and fall of Ichigo's awesome reiatsu as the boy slept. Ichigo never remembered much of his nights outside of the nightmares, but perhaps Urahara could hope that Ichigo remembered how he would always calm down right at the worst moments.

Then there was that easy banter that always cropped up at the oddest of times between the two. And the moments they would find themselves sparring against each other with no audience in the basement. And the times they'd be stacking shelves or taking stock, just the two of them. In a household of seven and the occasional eight, Ichigo and Urahara seemed to find privacy a little too easily.

“Whatever happened to no Ichigo, Kisuke?” he asked himself, climbing out of the spring. Perhaps he should speak with Isshin sooner rather than later; the guilt was eating at him.

Idly Urahara wondered if Ichigo's guilt complex had shifted to Urahara without his knowing it. The blond shook his head. No, he couldn't talk to Isshin yet, judging by his own flustered reaction earlier that day when he spoke to Grimmjow.

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“Eh, kinda odd seein' ya in tee and jeans. What's up, Urahara?” the teal-haired man had asked while wiping down the bar counter. “What's yer fancy? We got some quality maguro, if you want.”

“I'll take whatever you serve, Grimmjow-san.” Urahara grinned tiredly.

The former Espada certainly knew how to wield knives and how to handle fish. The way the blades had slid almost sensuously over the pale, bloodless flesh was hypnotic; it was rumored that top restaurateurs were throwing money at this culinary wunderkind that had emerged out of nowhere. After all, it wasn't every day a blue-haired, well-muscled, foulmouthed chef turned up, knives dancing over ingredients to whip up tantalizing servings of sushi and sashimi at a fraction of the prices at top-end restaurants.

Grimmjow plonked a plate down in front of Urahara. “So what is the matter, eh?”

“I can't come by to visit you?”

“The las' time you came by to visit was when there were five moons orbiting the Earth,” growled Grimmjow. “Trouble on the horizon, eh?”

“Not really,” said Urahara. “I just need you to open a way into Las Noches later. Mm. This really is quality stuff, Grimmjow-san.”

“No can do,” said Grimmjow, his knife flashing again for another customer. It was ten minutes before he came back to Urahara, who was now enjoying good soba. It was obvious that the primarily female clientele were here for the blue-haired hunk – _he's good-looking, damn manly, and he uses sushi knives like a demon! And he cooks and cleans!_ \- and it would be tough for Urahara to monopolize the charming-when-he-wants ex-Espada's time.

Grimmjow materialized again. “So, you want me to open a garganta. No can do.”

“Why not?”

“Way's shut. Nothing can go in, nothing can come out. Can't figure why,” said Grimmjow. “I still keep up with the hollow huntin' y'know, but that's damn near impossible now. Think Halibel's found a way to end all travellin' between dimensions.”

“She that powerful?”

“She that conservative,” Grimmjow grimaced expressively. “By the way, you stink of that Berry-Head. Go get cleaned up, eh?”

“I _did –_ tch.” Urahara groaned, then sat back in his chair as Grimmjow chuckled, sending a few of his fans into mild conniptions. The blond shook his head at Grimmjow. “Sneaky.”

“Comin' from ya, that's a compliment. Don't try ta escape the issue, eh? See ya.” The man waved Urahara away to the counter to pay the bill, sauntering down the counter to flirt with a gaggle of giggling brunettes.

 

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XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

In the morning Urahara exited his room feeling like a thousand elephants had sat on him one by one. And then stretched out his bones to test them as springs. He bumped hazily into Ichigo and uttered a “Mrrrngghh.”

“Uh, Kisuke, you might want to brush your teeth,” said Ichigo, edging carefully around the blond. “Good morning to you too.”

“Hrrmmmp.”

As he sleepily showered, he realized he was not looking forward to today, which was Sunday: Ichigo would be around the entire time, if Urahara was unlucky, and definitely he would ask why Urahara had been in shinigami outfit last night.

“I was out hunting hollows until I felt your reiatsu and decided to come home and then saw you at the door?” Urahara tried it aloud, then scoffed. For the truth, it lacked punch. Then he sniffed his hand that was shampooing his hair. Then he sniffed his arm.

“Crap,” muttered Urahara. He had used Yuzu's orange-scented body wash on his hair and Karin's strawberry-scented shampoo on his body. “Now he's just gonna laugh at me.”

_Ah well, humor is the best defense, isn't it? And you know how to use humor._

Urahara sighed and rinsed himself off, ready to face a bright new day... if Ichigo was not around to confuse him too much.

 


	5. 5.

Ichigo massaged the back of his neck as he chewed down on the bread roll he had bought yesterday. Kisuke was taking his time with brushing his teeth, Ichigo thought, almost annoyed. Then he smiled, just a little. He was thinking of the blond as Kisuke.

_Cool._

_:Allow me to deflate that bubble – the man turned you down, remember? Or are you becoming senile in your old age:_

_STFU._ Ichigo rubbed his temples to ease a potential headache.

He did wish Zangetsu would reemerge soon, though he knew it to be a faint hope. After confronting the Espada, Zangetsu had been almost entirely subsumed into the hollow. Ichigo had met the old man exactly four times the past five years. On the other hand, the hollow was stronger than Zangetsu. Ichigo just had to make sure his inner hollow wasn't stronger than himself.

“Tea is gonna get cold!” he yelled, as much to hurry the shopkeeper as to keep his thoughts from going down that fruitless, wandering path again.

Yuki sauntered in, looking inordinately pleased with himself. Ichigo frowned at the black cat, wondering if Aizen and Ichimaru had had the feline 'treated'. He definitely did NOT want other cat owners, loaded with kittens, to come baying for Yuki's blood. Absently he leaned over and stroked Yuki's smooth black fur. The cat rubbed his lissome body against Ichigo's leg before padding out the kitchen. Ichigo wondered what Yuki was up to, then decided not to bother. Instead he shouted again for Kisuke.

Uraha – no, Kisuke. Kisuke hurried out, dabbing at his chin. The sleepiness was still evident, but there was something off about the blond that Ichigo just couldn't quite place- Ichigo choked on his coffee.

“You shaved!”

“I did,” agreed Kisuke. He popped two slices of bread into the toaster and poured himself some tea, not without a longing gaze at the pot of coffee. Why oh why did he have to get the jitters after coffee? And only he out of the entire household.

Ichigo was still staring open-mouthed at him. Without the stubble Kisuke looked a lot younger, almost... decent. Ichigo snorted at his own observation, prompting a glare from Kisuke. If only the blond knew how much more appealing he was...

_He already told me how he feels. Ichigo, get over it._

“So,” he said, trying to push the urge to feel that smooth chin and cheeks down into the deepest recesses of himself, “Sunday. What shall we do?”

Kisuke studied him over the rim of his cup, his gray eyes lacking the usual spark. Ichigo hated that dullness – and he hated himself for being the most probable cause of the loss of that evil glint. Kisuke smiled, a little wanly. “Sunday is laundry day, Ichigo. We'll go sort it out and get it done after my breakfast and the newspaper. Else Ururu would disembowel us when she comes home.”

“Mm, good point.” Hauling himself out of his seat, Ichigo then plodded to the sink and washed up the few dishes he had used. Kisuke resumed drinking, then he slouched out of the kitchen to hunt for the daily newspaper. It would be an hour or so before Kisuke emerged from his reading nook – the man had a routine and he kept to it.

Sunday. Time blew past fast, didn't it?

It was only Friday when he – they – no. Kisuke had been very direct, much unlike his usual roundabout ways of speaking. But the memory of Friday night sprang unbidden into Ichigo's mind.

Kisuke had been so very gentle, as if scared of hurting Ichigo. The way he kissed him at the window was too soft, far too soft. Ichigo wondered if he had been too bold at that time, reaching up to entangle his fingers in thick blond hair, pushing Kisuke closer to himself. The tongue that usually wielded hidden barbs of sarcasm was more than willing, sliding over Ichigo's and exploring Ichigo's welcoming mouth.

Ichigo blinked hard to clear the heat from his face. He recalled how Kisuke's clever hands had roamed over his body freely after the older man had steered them to the rumpled futon. Hands that tinkered and built and crafted inventions had turned into delicate instruments, exploring and mapping Ichigo's frame for sensitive spots that were followed by Kisuke's lips and tongue.

Oh god his mouth... it should be banned. It should be marked as dangerous as the hougyoku. Ichigo had been wondering about the wisdom of sleeping with Kisuke when the older man had kissed him senseless, rolling his tongue deep into Ichigo, engaging all of the youth's senses. Ichigo vaguely remembered how Kisuke had rubbed against the roof of Ichigo's mouth, how he had teased Ichigo's tongue into the older man's mouth and sucked on it... After that kiss Ichigo had been unable to follow a train of thought coherently.

“I gotta stop. He's not ready.” He repeated the sentence to himself a few times. “

It was definitely time for Ichigo to get over it. After all, it had been a mistake. It wasn't about Ichigo's feelings, it was Kisuke's as well, and if one party wasn't ready, then there was no point getting worked up over nothing.

But Ichigo wished that there was something to get worked up about.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

He strolled to the laundry room, all of his washing bundled up under one arm. It was a small, dim space, but somehow Ura-Kisuke, Kisuke managed to install three washing machines into the room. The green one in the corner was for shinigami uniforms. So often had his shoten been used as a stopover point that Kisuke decided to have a laundromat for the shinigami who came to the human world.

After all, Ichigo mused as he sorted through his clothes, it wasn't as if no one was interested in him. There were a few girls from his classes who had asked him out for tea or dinner or movies, and he had tried a couple of dates with them. Didn't pan out properly though; they were all too innocent, too _whole_ ; a good thing for them not to be baptized by the fires of war, but immensely boring for Ichigo who had seen and done more than they could ever do. Ishida, with Inoue's prompting, had introduced a few guys to Ichigo. It was the same problem. They weren't on the same emotional level as Ichigo.

Irritated by Inoue's badgering, Tatsuki had told Ichigo to find his own mate. He had told her to jump Grimmjow already. They had gotten into a fight, which Tatsuki won easily. She may not be the equal of Ichigo in armed combat, but when it came to fists and feet, not even Grimmjow could take her on without some injury.

“Hey, you started without me.”

“Geez!” Ichigo jolted. The socks he was in the process of unrolling flew out of his hands. Twisting around he glared at the shopkeeper. “You move like a cat!”

“No, Yuki moves like a cat. I move like the perverted shopkeeper I am,” said Kisuke. It _sounded_ like he was back to his usual self, but Ichigo heard the flatness beneath the jocularity.

The air felt thick and the room was suddenly claustrophobia-inducing. Ichigo focused on differentiating between whites and coloreds, heavy material, hand-wash-only and fragiles (he had indulged in three silk shirts over Christmas). Then he placed the fragiles into laundry bags. In the meantime, Kisuke was adding washing powder to the compartments and tossing in the jeans and bermudas the guys wore.

Then he sniffed. “Kisuke, you smell odd.”

“I'll take it as a compliment.” Kisuke's tone was one of resignation. “But I much prefer the term, sensational.”

“No, I mean you smell fruity,” clarified Ichigo, still distracted by the scent of strawberry and pineapple. Then he got it. “You used Karin's and Yuzu's stuff by mistake, didn't you?”

Kisuke smirked crookedly. “Yeah, I did. I was half-asleep. But I smell juicy, right?”

Smiling, Ichigo arched a sarcastic brow. Yes, Kisuke was back to teases and wordplay, but there was something incredibly not-right about the blond. They loaded the clothes into the washing machine. Ichigo frowned; he had far too many black clothes. It must be a shinigami influence, he decided.

Speaking of which...

“Kisuke?”

The shopkeeper was staring at the buttons on the washing machine, as if they held the key to one of life's mysteries. “Mm?”

“Why were you in shinigami form last night?”

“I went out to fight. Needed to let off some steam. Couldn't find a hollow to save anyone's life.”

Ichigo's brow creased. “If you wanted to fight I'm always available for-”

“I know that, Kurosaki-kun,” snapped Kisuke.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. Did Kisuke just call him Kurosaki-kun? What on earth was going on? “Why didn't you then?”

“You're not a stupid person, Kurosaki-kun. I'm sure you understand.” The washing machine whirred into its rinse cycle. Kisuke's eyes were shadowed; he was still staring at the machine. “I'll be going out again later, Kurosaki-kun.”

“Stop calling me that,” warned Ichigo thickly.

Kisuke shook his head. “I've been encouraging a closeness that is unhealthy between us.”

“Unhealthy?” Ichigo felt his temper rise. “We were friends for five, six years and you call that an unhealthy closeness? Because of one night?”

Kisuke was not looking at him. The redhead stalked the two steps over and turned the shopkeeper around. Ichigo grabbed Kisuke's arm and the blond tried to jerk away.

“What is wrong with you?” Ichigo demanded. “I'm not pushing for anything now. I'm okay. I'm not asking for anything. And you're just- You are overreacting.”

Kisuke's gaze suddenly bore into Ichigo's brown eyes. “I'm overreacting? Of course I'm overreacting. I fucked my friend's son.”

“I'm twenty years old, Kisuke, and I was more than a willing participant.” Ichigo glowered. “It's not about me. You're upset about something else.”

Kisuke swallowed and turned away. Ichigo, in a rare burst of insight, stated, “You're still upset about Aizen and Ichimaru, aren't you? For goodness sakes, Kisuke, it wasn't as if you guys were that close-”

“Aizen Sousuke was my lover, Kurosaki-kun.”

The admission derailed Ichigo's reprimand. He knew they were friends – Kisuke said it himself – but... “Lovers?”

“Ex-lovers. I was with him for many decades, on and off. He was always there for me until I abused his acceptance one time too far. Yoruichi wasn't even apologetic, saying that I deserved getting kicked out by him.”

“Why should Yoruichi be apologetic?” The confused look on Ichigo's face would be ammunition for a less-serious Kisuke, but right now the shopkeeper wasn't interested in making fun of the young man.

“Because I was also with her when I was with him. It's... complicated.” Kisuke's hands were bunching into tight fists.

Ichigo thought, _It's not complicated. You two-timed either Yoruichi or Aizen. Probably Aizen. Why should you be distressed over this? The man was evil. He couldn't have loved you. What would a man who aimed to slaughter tens of thousands know of love?_

Even as Ichigo's thoughts segued into doubts of Aizen ever loving Kisuke, Ichigo's inner hollow kicked up a recent memory.

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“I'm sorry you have to go through this,” apologized Ichimaru.

“It's alright.” Aizen's smile was equally thin. “I just wondered why you didn't say goodbye.”

“Because... because if I saw you one last time... I wouldn't be able – be able to go.” He was no longer smiling. “But I'm tired, Aizen-sama. I'm tired, and I was afraid you'd be angry... I'm so tired of being weak... I was afraid that if I was weak, you'll go away.”

“I won't be angry. I haven't been angry with you for a long time. I'll never be angry with you again.” Aizen was stroking through fine silver hair. “Rest, love. Just rest. You're not weak. I won't be going anywhere. I'll be here, with you. I'm always here.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_:Aizen knew how to love more than you do, King.:_

Ichigo had to agree with his inner hollow. He remembered the way the traitorous captain had looked at Ichimaru, the way they held hands. He remembered the look in Ichimaru's eyes when he had traced over the photo of Aizen, and the final kiss Aizen had pressed on Ichimaru's body.

If Aizen had loved Kisuke, he would have offered the world on a platter for the blond. Ichigo found his voice. “I'm sorry to hear that. But... right at the end, he was prepared. He knew what he was doing, from what I could tell.”

“From what you could tell.” Kisuke was breathing slowly and evenly, his voice curiously dead. “I lost him, and I wasn't even there to stop him. I have to hear from everyone else how Sou died. Do you have any idea how it feels? Do you?”

The blond was almost nose to nose with Ichigo now. The redheaded youth held his breath.

“It's one thing for a soldier to watch a fellow soldier fall,” said Kisuke. Then he let go of Ichigo, stumbling back to lean on the wall. “I – _I_ had loved Sou for more than a century, Ichigo. I have always loved him, even after it was obvious the man had no morals whatsoever. Even then, I loved him. Kept returning to him. And I'd get turned off by his disregard for life and death, and I'd leave. I had never treated him right. And he's gone forever now.”

Ichigo swallowed. “Are you angry that I was there instead of you?”

“No. Yes. No...no. You spoke up for them. I wouldn't have.” Kisuke ran his hand roughly through his hair, mussing it up. “I wish I could have.”

“Then what have I done that you find so overwhelming, Kisuke?” Ichigo spoke softly, as if afraid that Kisuke would bolt. He stepped closer to the blond. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not wrong, no.” Kisuke sank slowly to the ground. “You offered solace. After that, you offer your heart. How am I supposed to... Ichigo,” the blond said, staring up at the young man, “I don't know what to do with you.”

Ichigo hunkered down, meeting Kisuke eye-to-eye. “I don't understand.”

“ I don't know how to love someone properly,” admitted the former captain. “I never have. Not even with Sousuke. I'm afraid I'll do the same to you and hurt you too.”

Ichigo sat down and took Kisuke's hands. He ran his thumb over the back of the palm, marveling at the smoothness. The washing machine was now settling into the spin cycle, to judge from the noise. The little room was warmer than Ichigo remembered.

“Kisuke,” he said at last. “I meant what I said earlier. I'm not asking for anything. Just... just treat me the way you've been treating me. I don't need to be special, Kisuke. I just want to be you to be in my life. As a friend. And if, eventually, you want to take it further, maybe I'll still be willing.”

Suddenly Kisuke laughed. Real laughter, not the ironic sniggers or teasing chuckles, but honest laughter. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Kisuke smiled at the earnest youth before him. Ichigo was frowning again – that look of intensity amplified rather than reduce the of the young man.

“What?” muttered Ichigo. “You're laughing at me.”

“Not at you,” assured Kisuke quickly. “It's just so different. I'm older, supposedly wiser, and here you are teaching me how to handle my emotions and our relationship like an experienced counselor.”

“Hmm.” Ichigo couldn't really see the humor in the situation, but smiled a little anyway. Then he stood up and offered the older man a hand. The machine had stopped its whirring and had started a second rinse. Kisuke accepted Ichigo's assistance in getting up, then pulled Ichigo in for a hug.

“Thanks, Kurosaki-kun.”

“Never call me Kurosaki-kun again. I've had enough of that in the first year,” warned Ichigo fiercely. His reciprocal embrace was slightly too perfunctory, but Ichigo was nervous about too much contact with the firm, warm body of the shopkeeper. He punched the man in the shoulder. “Now say my name properly.”

Kisuke caught hold of Ichigo's chin, held it between his hot palms. The smile was just that little bit wicked, the glint in his eyes just that little bit mischievous. Kisuke leaned in and rested his forehead against Ichigo's. “Kurosaki Ichigo.”

“Much better,” said Ichigo, knowing he was blushing. That tendency was still there despite his best efforts to toughen his sensibilities. It wasn't as if he was still the inexperienced fifteen-year-old.

Kisuke kissed Ichigo's brow and let go. “Let's get the clothesline ready for laundry, hmm?”

“Yeah.” Ichigo smiled faintly. Normal life would help them get over it. Life went on; it wouldn't stop for their petty problems. Life wasn't about them.

 


	6. 6.

Urahara Kisuke pegged the large bed sheet, assiduously avoiding Ichigo's embarrassed gaze. This was, of course, the one that had been twisted and soiled by their exertions on Friday night, and had sat in the laundry basket until Sunday morning.

Still, Kisuke had to admit that he felt better after blurting out some of his random fears and thoughts. Truth be told, he hadn't explored his feelings deeply about the entire situation. Although Ichigo had assured him of their friendship – whatever happened – Kisuke felt that there were more to his own tumultuous yet timid response to the beautiful offer Ichigo was making.

He didn't like being this shy and withdrawn about his heart and his mind. He had had to be secretive, god knows, since he couldn't put out a sign saying 'I'm an exiled shinigami captain, ask me why', but being afraid of the future was never him. Aware that he was too trapped by his own spiral of thoughts, Kisuke decided to ask Yoruichi to be his sounding board once again.

With a pang of guilt Kisuke remembered that that had been one of Sousuke's peeves: to the brunet, being lovers meant sharing everything, and Kisuke's reluctance to reveal his secrets was one of the major wedges that drove them apart.

There were other factors too.

There had also been Sousuke's inability to tell right from wrong, of course. Kisuke never said as much to Sousuke, fearing the response, but now on hindsight Kisuke wondered if Sousuke would have bothered to learn if it had been pointed out to him.

“Penny for your thoughts,” said Ichigo, breaking Kisuke's concentration.

The blond grinned at Ichigo. “Oh, nothing much. Just thinking about lunch.”

Ichigo's brow creased. He didn't believe Kisuke for a second. Then he shrugged and went with the flow. “Since there are only the two of us, why not eat out for a change?”

“We have food at home-”

“We never eat out, Kisuke. Please?” Ichigo blinked wistful puppy-eyes at the shopkeeper.

Kisuke had to smile; the young man had grown comfortably into his own skin. Fifteen-year-old Kurosaki Ichigo would rather be skewered by zanpakuto than act cute. Even now at twenty, Ichigo still had the same lanky build, subtly enhanced by sleek muscles trained in combat. His orange hair, once the bane of his high school existence, was now a focal point of attraction in college. Kisuke had to admit that Ichigo looked better with every passing year, although the young man tended towards dark colors. At least three-quarters of Ichigo's laundry was black, and the remaining one-quarter blues and grays.

“Pretty please?” Ichigo had added a small pout, his shoulders shaking with the effort to not laugh outright.

Kisuke grinned. “All right. I take it I'm paying?”

“Of course!” replied Ichigo blithely. “My boss fired me after I ran after Aizen. He said I wasn't prepared to take on the heavy responsibility of being a chocolatier.” The young undergraduate rolled his eyes. Then he tilted his head and asked, “Is Soul Society ever gonna pay me for my part-time job as a shinigami? In human-world currency?”

“That, you'll need to negotiate with Ukitake.”

“Then it's alright, I'll get paid,” commented Ichigo, brimming with good humor. He sauntered off into the house, the laundry basket tucked under one arm.

Kisuke put away the small splinter of hurt that had appeared when Ichigo mentioned Sousuke's name. Following Ichigo, with the remaining pegs in their basket, he said, “You seem confident he'll pay you for services you have rendered freely since you were fifteen.”

“I can ask for back pay then.”

“Your negotiating skills wouldn't be along the lines of bankai Zangetsu unleashed, would it?”

“No,” Ichigo answered with a crooked smile, “but I'm sure Kyoraku-san wouldn't want his precious sake collection demolished, nor would Renji appreciate his sunglasses in fragments, nor would Byakuya like his house to be painted in bright pink, nor would Shuuhei like pornographic photos of that number on his cheek plastered across Seireitei...”

“Living with me has definitely influenced you,” remarked Kisuke.

Ichigo chuckled evilly. “Yeah, because I plan to blame everything on you.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

In the end they decided to have some pizza. Kisuke had complained about the unhealthiness, but Ichigo shut him up with a promise to have more sparring sessions.

Kisuke settled into the booth, waiting for their Hawaiian pizza. He shut the menu and placed on the empty seat beside him. “Why is it called Hawaiian anyway? Did they invent this particular type?”

“Did the entire era of junk food pass you by? It's just ham and pineapple, that's all.” Ichigo paused in his fidgeting with his napkin. “Speaking of junk food, let's have an ice cream sundae later.”

“I'm gonna grow fat.” Kisuke wasn't really paying attention to anything other than the lean and strong fingers of his tablemate. Those well-shaped fingers were shredding the paper napkin into confetti. What was bothering Ichigo, Kisuke wondered, that he had to transfer his nervous energy to innocent wads of paper?

“You need some flesh on you, you're too skinny. I could practically count your ribs.”

Kisuke's gaze flickered up, and then it turned mischievous. “Did you?”

“Did I what?” Ichigo put down the decimated napkin.

“Count. My ribs.” Kisuke leaned in. “Or were you too captivated by other parts of my anatomy?”

“Shut up!” Tossing his straw at Kisuke, Ichigo's blush was entirely too delicious. Kisuke burst out into laughter. The other patrons cast curious glances at their table, and Ichigo hissed at Kisuke to shut up.

Their pizza arrived. Kisuke frowned at it, not sure if he wanted the greasy slabs of dough and meat in his stomach, but Ichigo was already helping himself to one slice.

Kisuke took one gingerly, grimacing at the feel of oil on his fingers and at the strands of gooey cheese. “Ichigo, how do you eat -” Kisuke's mouth dried instantly as he looked up to watch Ichigo eat.

The young man had twirled the thick strings of half-melted cheese around his index and middle fingers and had just delivered them to his mouth. He sucked on his fingertips, his tongue flicking out, circling, to trace the cheese back to the pizza slice. Ichigo then bit into the thin crust, swearing softly when a dab of tomato puree fell into his holding palm. Rather than put down his pizza slice, the redhead decided to lick that recalcitrant bit of tomato puree from the center of his hand. When his tongue finally managed to secure it, Ichigo mmm-ed and proceeded to pick pineapple out of his slice, popping each into his mouth with little contented sounds. He hadn't even looked to see if Kisuke had started on his own slice, so satisfied was he on his own lunch.

Kisuke gaped, his vision blurring slightly around the edges. He had just fallen in love with eating pizza.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The ice-cream concoction selected by Kisuke was a monstrous mountain of nine different flavors, smothered by fudge and whipped cream. Ichigo had turned it down, choosing instead a simple chocolate sundae for himself and a peach sundae for Kisuke.

“You said you didn't want unhealthy food,” pointed out Ichigo, unaware that Kisuke just wanted to watch Ichigo savor the dessert. If it had been half as seductive as the pizza, Kisuke would have more than enough material for a season's worth of wet dreams.

Even so, the way Ichigo was eating his chocolate sundae was quite bad enough. Or good enough. The youth had evidently not taken time to enjoy such sinful desserts for a long time. Every loaded mouthful earned a soft hum of contented pleasure. When a drip landed on Ichigo's chin, he again employed those tantalizing fingers to catch the errant bit.

Kisuke ate his mechanically, not really sure how he managed to navigate the spoon from ice-cream to mouth.

 _You're supposed to stay away from taking advantage of him!_ Kisuke's long-unused conscience scolded.

 _Shut up._ Kisuke's little red devil pounced on his left shoulder, urging him to reach across the table, to play with the long fingers. _Recall how his tongue had licked the sauce clean from those fingertips? The way he had sucked on each before he went to wash his hands? Imagine those fingers in your own mouth..._

 _Kisuke, you know you are not ready,_ said the angel on his right shoulder, waving its little harp about to emphasize its point. _He might not take too kindly to being seen as-_

 _A totally hot and yummy sex symbol?_ The devil poked Kisuke's angel off its perch with its pitchfork. _Tell him how fucking sexy he was eating that pizza._

The angel clambered up and whacked with his little harp the little red-horned Kisuke to the ground. _Remember: restraint. You are NOT using this kid._

Kisuke sighed, shoulders slumping. He knew he was tempted to flirt with the young man, but since he wasn't about to take it any further, perhaps he should stop tempting himself. But it would help a lot if...

“Ichigo, if you keep licking that spoon in that way, I'm gonna do something I regret.”

“Hmm?” Trust Ichigo to remain oblivious to the effect he was having on Kisuke's libido. “What?”

Kisuke picked up his snickering devil and tossed his shrieking and unintelligible angel off to the next table. Leaning across, he took Ichigo's unoccupied hand and kissed the knuckles.

Ichigo froze and then sputtered.

“K-Kisuke, we're in public!” he hissed, face redder than the maraschino cherry atop the sundae. He spoke as softly as he could, not wishing others to see what was going on.

“If they saw how you ate that pizza and how you're eating that sundae, they'd understand completely.” Kisuke nibbled at Ichigo's fingertips. Despite the young man's fluster, he hadn't removed his hand, leaving it limp and trembling in Kisuke's firm grip.

Ichigo gulped, and pressed his lips together for a moment. Kisuke became fixated on the small smear of chocolate on one corner of Ichigo's mouth. But to risk a kiss here in the open... No.

Pressing his lips to the back of Ichigo's hand before releasing it, Kisuke smiled. “That'll teach you to be so unconsciously sexy.”

“Idiot.” Ichigo scowled, but Kisuke could tell his heart wasn't in it. In fact, Kisuke was more than ready to bet that Ichigo's heart was hammering as strongly as his own right now.

From now on, Kisuke pledged silently, Sundays would be pizza and ice cream days. He would spar for forty hours a week if necessary.

 


	7. 7.

“We're home!” sang out Karin as they dumped their bags into the front entrance.

Yuzu frowned prettily. “Where is everyone?”  
Ichigo stepped out with a bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey girls. Sorry I can't give ya a hand with those, but I gotta go. Class in an hour, and the traffic now is killer.”

“Where's Urahara-san?” asked Yuzu as she accepted the perfunctory hug from Ichigo. Karin exchanged a complicated handshake and a pat to the head.

Ichigo pulled on his shoes. “Kisuke? In the back washing the dishes. See you later?”  
“Yep.” Karin grinned as she suddenly picked up a very interesting point. As Ichigo closed the door, he heard a muffled comment about Kisuke. He didn't think more about it.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Tatsuki caught up with Ichigo as they left their respective lecture theaters. “Hey, Ichigo, free tonight?”

“Asking me out on a date?” teased Ichigo. He slipped an arm over her slim shoulders. “You finally know I'm single and available and attractive, hmm?”

“I also know you're more interested in guys,” laughed Tatsuki, leaving Ichigo's arm where it was. There were a few envious glances but she knew she had the whole rocker-chick look down pat. Her hair was still short, but the blue streaks added a hint of sensuality to her slender and tough appearance.

Ichigo and Tatsuki made their way to the cafe where Tatsuki was working between lessons. Tatsuki still had ten minutes before she was due for her shift, so she perched herself on a seat. “So, free later?”

“Should be, since Karin and Yuzu are back and I doubt Yuzu would want to cook the day she returns home.”

“They staying over at Urahara's or my place?” Tatsuki asked, adjusting the leather cuff on her left wrist.

“Should be at yours. I've a feeling they're at Kisuke's just to clear their laundry.” Ichigo was caught unawares when Tatsuki poked him in the ribs. “What?”

“Kisuke?” Her brows were raised and she had a smirk.

Ichigo frowned, then swore inwardly. He had gotten used to calling him that over the weekend and – to be perfectly honest – calling Kisuke by his name felt intimate and special. “Yeah, Kisuke.”

“What didja do? Finally found your mate?”

Ichigo gaped at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tatsuki beamed innocently. “Someone's in love, I think.”

“Shaddup, Tatsuki.”

“Hey, I've known you the longest bar your family, and I think I'm entitled to teasing.” She turned serious for a moment. “It is Urahara, right?”

“We're not in love,” corrected Ichigo, unconsciously projecting a level of embarrassed dejection.

Tatsuki took note though, and changed the subject. “So, tonight, at _The Bucket_.”

That was where Grimmjow worked, Ichigo noted. “We're meeting Grimmjow?”

“Yeah, he has fresh stock in today and told me to bring everyone down.”

“Gotta be expensive,” said Ichigo. The prices at _The Bucket_ were increasing every other week, thanks to Grimmjow's rising prominence within the town. Damn bastard was a freaking genius with knives, seasoning and fish.

Tatsuki grinned widely. “Sixty percent discount for all regulars.”

“We're not regulars,” said Ichigo. His mobile phone vibrated; he had a message.

Tatsuki stood up and sauntered behind the counter to pull on the apron for her shift. “Speak for yourself, Ichigo.”

“You?” Ichigo was surprised. Then he smirked. “So, how are you and Grimmy getting along?”

“We're doing fine, thank you,” replied Tatsuki breezily. “At least our path's not as fraught with obstacles as yours, dear friend of mine.”

“Well, 'dear friend of mine', what time you getting off shift? I'll send ya home later,” said Ichigo. “Gonna visit Inoue now.”

At the mention of her best friend Tatsuki's face fell a little. “I get off at five. Say hi to her for me. Oh, and pass this chocolate double-fudge cake to Ishida so he can give it to her tonight. It eases her at night, he told me the other day.”

“She's doing better, Tatsuki,” said Ichigo, feeling the guilt welling up again. Tatsuki didn't look at him, merely focused on entering the price she paid for the cake. The seconds ticked by slowly.

“Go on, Ichigo,” Tatsuki finally said, a shaky smile on her lips.

The brunette had been badly affected by Inoue's mental breakdown when she was finally rescued from Las Noches. Aizen hadn't been kind nor hospitable at all.

Thankfully Ishida Uryuu's father had contacts to assist her in recuperating from the trauma, although she was still terrified of the dark and would sleep only in short periods before waking up screaming. Ishida had taken it upon himself to care for the distraught girl and she now looked to him for love and protection.

The first time Ichigo and Tatsuki had gone to see her, Inoue had attacked them both, and it had taken Ishida almost everything to rein her in. The loss of their bond had broken Tatsuki's spirit in many ways, but her dedication and devotion to Inoue had never wavered. Ichigo was oddly thankful to Grimmjow for Tatsuki, because his presence made her come to terms with her own powers and she had passed the baton of protecting her best friend to Ishida..

“Say hi for me. I'll be there the day after tomorrow,” said Tatsuki more firmly. “Grimm would be free that day too.”

“Gotcha,” said Ichigo. He tossed off a casual salute to Tatsuki and headed for his car.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

As he made his way to Ishida's house – no power in any dimension could make Ichigo call him Uryuu – he reflected that perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned visiting Inoue. He knew that part of Tatsuki still blamed him for getting involved in all that shinigami crap, and for not returning the feelings Inoue had for him. At least Inoue was mostly lucid now; she still had the 'episodes', when she believed herself to be within Las Noches, being subjected to Aizen's tests, but they were fading with time and care.

Thinking of Aizen made Ichigo tighten his grip on the battered steering wheel. He had actually begun to empathize with the traitor after spending almost two months with him and Ichimaru. He had fallen into their circle. They had wrapped everyone they came across into a spell – people saw the warmth and love they had for each other, and they wanted into that warmth. Hungered for it. Fought for it. Died for it.

Ichigo now realized that all the warmth was real, tender and genuine, and restricted to the two of them. They generated heat, that was true, but the heat didn't touch any other person that they interacted with, merely a lure to lead the credulous in. Ichigo cut across a slow driver's lane, ignoring the annoyed blast from the irate driver. The drive was only twenty-five minutes, most of it up a winding hill.

“Posh bastard,” Ichigo swore as usual when the iron gates took their time opening. It had to be good to have a father that rich, Ichigo mused distractedly. He knew Ishida wasn't on good terms with his father, but for Inoue's sake he had made nice. He parked near the shade but not directly under a tree, in case the birds had any pressing need for target practice. It might be a secondhand car that had seen better days, but he had taken the effort to earn enough for the new paint job and the re-upholstering.

“It's me,” he told the intercom beside the heavy wooden door. It buzzed and Ichigo entered.

Ishida got up from his armchair, where his laptop was ticking through a program. “She's in the kitchen, making chocolate muffins.”

Perhaps there was some sort of irony somewhere, because Inoue was a completely different cook now, and her brownies were to die for. Ichigo sort-of smiled. “Bake sale again?”

“Just random baking I think,” said Ishida nonchalantly. “How's the film analysis class going?”

“It's a bullshit course, man,” said Ichigo, sinking into the leather sofa. “But at least I get to watch movies for credit. How's your thesis going, genius?”

“Smoothly enough.” He pushed his glasses up his high-bridged nose. “When is Tatsuki and Grimmjow coming over?”

“The day after tomorrow and how the hell do you know they're coming?” Ichigo tilted his head back. “Hey, Inoue. Smells good.”

“They are good,” she beamed and pulled off the gloves. “Take some with you when you head home. How is Tatsuki? How are the girls? How's everyone at the Shoten? How's Grimmjow? And Chad? What's new with them?”

Ichigo chuckled. “Easy, Inoue, slow down. You've already heard that Tatsuki and Grimmjow are coming by the day after tomorrow,” he said, ticking off on his fingers, “Chad's returning I think a fortnight from now; Tessai, Ururu and Jinta won a prize and grabbed Kon along to Hokkaido, so Kisu- uh, Urahara and I are staying in the Shoten currently.”

“Hokkaido? I wanted to go!” Inoue pouted.

Ishida rolled his eyes. “Orihime, you wanted to go the Bahamas, the Galapagos islands, Bali, the Vatican and I think also Iceland in the past three days. Make up your mind?”

Ichigo couldn't miss the affection in Ishida's tone if he tried. Ishida was good for Inoue, since he didn't coddle her or make her out to be incapable of rational thought.

Then Inoue gasped and ran back to the kitchen when the timer rang. Ishida sat forward and his lips curved a little. “Kisuke, huh.”

Ichigo inhaled and hissed, “What is it with you and picking up all the niggling little details that no one wants you to see?”

“I'm a bloody genius, dumbass,” smirked Ishida. “How far have you gotten with him?”

Ichigo snorted. “Shaddup.”

“Hmm, by that reaction I'm pretty sure he's seen you naked already.”

“Ishida, just, shut the hell up? Please?” Ichigo wished Ishida had never majored in psychology.

Ishida pushed his glasses up his nose. “Since you asked nicely, I'll give you a break.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

**Second Batch**

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ikkaku's loud voice rang out through the Shoten as Ichigo pulled off his socks and shoes, and Isshin's punch almost caught his son on the nose.

“You're early,” remarked Ichigo, slamming Isshin into the wall casually as Kira emerged from the kitchen with a tray of drinks. Kira smiled hesitantly; even with the past few years of Isshin's captaincy Kira was still formal and careful with Ichigo. “So who's here?”

“Ikkaku-taichou, Kurosaki-taichou and myself, Ichigo-san.” Kira balanced the tray and slid the door to the television room open. “We received our mission early and have decided to complete it before the end of the week.”

“How's things in Seireitei?” Ichigo asked, directing a back kick to Isshin before proceeding to join the convivial bunch around the coffee table. “Hello, Ikkaku.”

“Heya.”

Ichigo snagged a potato chip from the table. “Karin, Yuzu, Tatsuki was asking if you girls are staying here or back with her tonight.”

“Back there, I guess, since daddy's here with Kira-san and Ikkaku,” said Karin. She looked at Ichigo strangely and then waggled her brows at her twin sister. Yuzu glanced at her brother then smothered a giggle. Before ichigo could ask what they were so amused about, Karin went on. “She told us to go to Grimmjow's for dinner. Who's treating?”

Kisuke put down his cup and spoke up. “Isshin will be, since I think he just tore three holes in my screen doors.”

“Hey, it's your fault the doors are so flimsy.”

“They're made of paper, how sturdy are they supposed to be?” said Ichigo snidely. He didn't have a drink, so he just grabbed the one next to him and sipped from it. He caught Karin's grin and narrowed his eyes. Nodding to the corridor, Ichigo motioned his brunette sister out.

“Alright, what's so funny?” he said, arms across his chest.

She smirked. “You.” She tugged him down – not that far anymore – and whispered, “You like Urahara, don't you?”

As Ichigo sputtered, Karin giggled wickedly. Finally the youth managed a hushed whisper. “How in the world do you know?”

“Let's see... 'Kisuke', for one,” muttered Karin. “Then there's the fact that you plopped yourself right next to him the second you entered the room. And then you took a potato chip from his hand without asking and _he_ didn't protest, and you just drank from his cup, again without asking. Now, last week when I saw you both you were still very much just friendly but not _that_ friendly. What happened?”

Ichigo exhaled heavily. “Not gonna tell you. Smart Alec.”

“I'll still find out, y'know.”

“Go bother your father.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

**Third Batch**

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

“We're home!” cried Jinta exuberantly. Ururu and Tessai were lugging bags from the cab and Kon hoisted three backpacks on his shoulders.

Crickets chirped.

Kon frowned. The bags were heavy. Jinta mimicked his puzzled expression and both said at the same time, “Where is everyone?”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Grimmjow's female fanbase was certainly expanding. Ichigo could see the tightness in Tatsuki's jaw as she ordered, and hastily made up some really amusing anecdote about his classmate. The blue-haired newly-human Grimmjow navigated his way through the admiring throng. Even though there were wait staff, Grimmjow liked to speak with his clientele personally.

Ichigo thought it was because Tatsuki was among their group.

“Okay, sets for eight. Hey there, shinigami,” he said as he placed their orders on the table. “Karin, Yuzu, you girls want the special?”

“On the house?” interjected Kisuke hurriedly. Ichigo shifted; he hadn't meant to sit next to the shopkeeper and the heat along his thigh was killing Ichigo. It didn't help that it was so crowded all eight of them had to be squashed into a medium sized booth. Yuzu was on the innermost seat, Tatsuki was wedged in next to Isshin and Karin, while on Ichigo's other side was Kira and Ikkaku. It was a tight squeeze but they managed somehow.

Grimmjow cast a disdainful look on Kisuke. “Cheapskate.”

“Hey, I'm a loyal customer too.”

“Bull. The only one loyal customer here is Tatsuki, and that's only 'cause I have ta treat her to dinner for not beating her into the ground.”

“Just say you lost, Grimm. It's good sportsmanship.” Tatsuki smiled crookedly.

“I'm just gentlemanly, asshole,” countered Grimmjow before stalking through the crowd to the kitchens.

Yuzu fiddled with her utensils and Isshin regaled the table with another story of how he singlehandedly fought off a tentacled hollow, while Ikkaku called him on the complete fabrication of the tale. Over Isshin's gesturing and Ikkaku's loud voice, Kisuke nudged Ichigo to lean forward. “Sorry, ichigo, I need to speak with Kira-san.”

Ichigo sat forward, and he tried not to think about the weight of Kisuke pressing into his side as the blond spoke with Kira. He caught part of it: something about Ichimaru leaving a message when Kisuke and Ichigo went to clear out the possessions of Ichimaru and Aizen. All they had left to do was the retrieval of the gigai the two had used and then Kisuke planned to sell the house, put the money towards the Kurosaki family's education.

“Tomorrow then?” said Kisuke.

Kira paused and then said, “That would be fine, Urahara-san. Thank you very much.”

“You're welcome.”

 


	8. 8.

When Kira took the flash drive from Kisuke it was possible that his hands didn't shake. Ikkaku kissed the younger blond on the temple, before accosting Ichigo for some sparring practice. Kisuke watched the eleventh captain descend the stairs with the youth, before turning back to Kira.

“I'll lend you my computer,” said Kisuke, inclining his head. The lieutenant smiled up at him, and Isshin nodded for Kira to follow Kisuke to the study. When Kira was seated and instructed on the vagaries of Kisuke's computer, the two older men left the room for Kira.

They stood at the door, wanting to provide emotional support to the young man, yet not wishing to intrude. Kira was stronger than most imagined – Kisuke and Isshin were not most people. The blond shopkeeper pulled his hat brim lower, obscuring his eyes, when he heard the first strains of guitar and the melancholic voice of Eric Clapton drift out from the study. Kira hadn't adjusted the volume and was not adjusting it either.

“ _Would you know my name  
If I saw you in heaven?   
Will it be the same   
If I saw you in heaven? _  
_I must be strong, and carry on,_  
Cause I know I don't belong   
Here in heaven.” 

Kisuke could hear the soft curse Isshin uttered under his breath. But he was more attentive to the lack of extraneous sound in the study. Kira was still there, his reiatsu spiking and falling, but he was completely silent.

 _'I'll find my way, through night and day  
Cause I know I just can't stay   
Here in heaven.” _  
_Ichimaru was smart; he knew this was an easy way to keep Kira forever pining after him_. Kisuke was shocked at the cynic inside him. But the soft, insistent voice kept murmuring at him, that it was a ploy on Ichimaru's part. He hoped he was wrong.   
“ _Beyond the door_  
There's peace I'm sure.   
And I know there'll be no more...   
Tears in heaven.” 

Kisuke inhaled heavily, listening to the instrumental bridge, and then, finally, catching a soft sob from within the room. He exchanged a glance with the Third's captain, who shook his head. His eyes were sorrowful, the usual mirth suppressed. Kisuke supposed the man's fatherly nature had prompted him to take in a new son in the form of Kira Izuru, and wondered how long it would take Isshin to build Kira up in confidence and self-assuredness.

And then he remembered there was also Madarame Ikkaku who now depended on Kira to become strong together with Ikkaku himself. Perhaps the road to recovery would be faster than Kisuke thought. ' _Cause I know I don't belong  
Here in heaven.”_

The door did not open for a long time. When Kira finally ventured from the study, his eyes were clear and his face dry, although there was a hint of puffiness around those clear blue eyes. “Thank you, Urahara-san. I'll go check on the two of them, make sure they haven't killed each other.” He bowed at his captain before heading to the basement access.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Isshin scratched his jaw. “I didn't know Kira knew English.”

“Ichimaru stayed ten years in Fegefeuer. He learned German and English there,” Kisuke answered. “I guess he must've taught Kira at some point.”

“They were acquainted for nearly a century,” Isshin reminded Kisuke obliquely. “That snake's got his fangs in everyone. Even Hisagi...”

Kisuke was instantly alert. “What do you mean, even Hisagi?”

Isshin growled, “Turns out he was Ichimaru's playmate before he entered the Academy.”

Kisuke chuckled mirthlessly. “Ichimaru must have had many playthings. Aizen never skimped on spoiling his lovers; I should know. So what's the issue?”

“How the hell are we supposed to trust him, asks the council,” said Isshin, his dark eyes boding ill for the group of men who had resurfaced to take power. “Fuck'em. Hisagi is ten times the shinigami they can ever be.”

Kisuke hissed with futile anger. There was nothing he could do, even if he wanted to. His past and recent association with Aizen cast even more doubt on him, despite the fact that he had assisted in the Gotei's attack on Las Noches. As for Ichigo, who had actually spoken out for them both...

“Kira's under a lot of fire then, isn't he?” Kisuke inquired.

“Strangely, no,” said Isshin. The two of them were striding to the main living hall now. “Apparently they believe that Ichimaru had maneuvered Kira into the over-reliance on him, and the extreme emotional attachment. They are exceedingly kind to him – which, in its own way, is as abhorrent as accusation.”

“You have no idea how weird it is to listen to you talking sensibly,” remarked Kisuke lightly, trying to inject some humor into the atmosphere. It fell flat.

The two of them settled on the porch, staring at the empty lot. Idle white clouds lazed across the sky. Kisuke felt the twinge of guilt. He had to speak now to Isshin, before the others came up. “Isshin, I have something to tell you.”

“What?”

“I uh, I had... I engaged in... Damn.” He sighed and let the words rush out in a stream, “I had sex with Ichigo.”

The punch to his jaw came out of nowhere. His hat flew off, but Kisuke didn't even have time to seek his hat, because he knew – _wham! -_ the next blow was like an iron hammer to his gut. Isshin towered over him, breathing heavily. “Say again?”

“I – I had sex, with your son.” Kisuke tried not to wince. Isshin was still a formidable hakuda combatant. Kisuke almost threw up, the kick in his stomach was that powerful. “Once. Only once. Not that... not that it makes it any better.”

Isshin stood motionless. Kisuke didn't try to defend himself. With a short sigh, Isshin offered a hand for Kisuke to grasp and hauled the shopkeeper to his feet. Uncertain, Kisuke flinched a little when Isshin raised his hand, but all Isshin did was run his hand through his hair and said, almost resignedly, “Eh, he's not a kid anymore.”

“If you're that open-minded,” wheezed Kisuke, “why the hell did you have to hit me that hard?”

“Because you're the last person I expected to be getting his perverted paws on my son.” Isshin snarled, then the ferocious expression was changed into a smile. “When did you guys start?”

“Again, I repeat, it was only the once. The reason why I'm telling you is because you're his father, and my friend, and perhaps you can see what I can't.” Kisuke took a deep breath for courage. “I didn't sleep with him because I love him, Isshin. I slept with him for comfort.”

“Your heater broke down?” Beneath the layer of levity he could sense the protectiveness of Ichigo's father.

“I meant... Look. I was upset over Sou's death. Ichigo came by and, uh, gave me some advice. And then he offered solace... or rather, I interpreted his – expression – to mean that he wouldn't mind staying the night.”

“And you haven't touched him since that night.” A statement. Isshin's arms were folded. Then a wicked grin crossed his bearded face. “Is it because you have erectile dysf-”

“All functions are perfectly fine,” interrupted Kisuke hastily. “He asked if... God, I sound like a woman... if we could be 'us'. And that night I turned him down after some thought.”

Isshin narrowed his eyes. “Why?” That was the friend Isshin talking.

“You know I can't commit. I haven't committed to two of the most important people in my life, and now neither of them are with me.” Kisuke tilted his head back, trying to explain his thought process about the conundrum he found himself in. “Isshin, I like Ichigo, I really do, but he's – he's your son, firstly, and he's so young. He deserves more than an old vagabond-scientist.”

“Don't make it sound so damn noble,” said Isshin. He slapped Kisuke's hat off before the blond could hold on to it. “Look at me and tell me Ichigo isn't someone you can rely on. Tell me you're not just plain chickenshit-scared to be hurt the way Aizen had been by you. Tell me you're not terrified of relationship karma.”

“What the hell is relationship karma?” asked Kisuke, trying to evade the questions.

“You treated Aizen shabbily, and he turned out to be the most indulgent and sacrificial lover this side of existence. He fucking conquered and rebuilt a _palace_ for Ichimaru. He gave up his plans for world conquest and even gave his life for that fox. You know you could've been the recipient of that,” Isshin stated, eyes clear and unflinchingly honest. “I saw your face just now at the room. You were _jealous._ ”

“Jealous? _Moi_?”

“Aizen even let Ichimaru love someone else, because Ichimaru had pledged himself to Aizen first.”

Kisuke swallowed. Yes, that was what had been eating at him. All that Aizen had given to Ichimaru, Aizen had offered to Kisuke before, but being the blind moron that he was, Kisuke had only taken advantage of seemingly far too much acceptance and patience. Until one day that patience and that acceptance had snapped, and Aizen Sousuke had turned on Kisuke forever.

“Now you're running scared. You're afraid that Ichigo will treat you like dirt after you pour out your heart, because you fucking want to,” continued Isshin blithely. He studied the pale shopkeeper. “Let me tell you something. My son will never hurt the person he loves, because I have never hurt the person I love.”

Kisuke closed his eyes. “I amend my earlier statement. You're not weird when you make sense. You're creepy.”

“Who's creepy?” asked someone that made Kisuke's heart skip a beat. He turned around and saw a sweaty Ikkaku, a smiling Kira, and a very mussed-up Ichigo.

Isshin grinned, the earlier seriousness dissipated. “Can't you guess, dearest son of mine?”

“Eurgh! Don't use terms of endearment on me!” Ichigo shivered dramatically. “I'm gonna go bathe. Yuzu and Karin coming over later for dinner, Kisuke?”

“Yes they are.” The shopkeeper tried to avoid the curious gazes of Ikkaku and Kira, and the knowing one from Isshin.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

When Kon knocked on his door Kisuke was surprised. “Something wrong with the gigai, Kon?”

“Yeah,” said the modsoul. “The elbows lock up when it rains. Like now.”

The splatter of rain on his roof had bypassed Kisuke's hearing entirely. What had he been focused on? Oh yes... the journals. For the past five years he had sifted though the official documents alongside Ukitake and Kyoraku, and now he had his hands on Aizen's private notes. It had been difficult reading – the man jumped from thought to thought, sometimes taking notes on his reading (and he read _a lot_ ), sometimes jotting down a random inspiration, occasionally a doodle (actually, Kisuke considered them art, since Aizen was a accomplished renaissance man) and the very rare penning down of sentiment. Those from the recent years throughout their exile from both Hueco Mundo and Soul Society had generated a library of journals, and Kisuke was sorting out the sequence.

Kon coughed. Kisuke was used to the new appearance by now, but Kon still felt uncomfortable in his own skin, flesh, bones and everything. Through his own request Kon had received a gigai of a young man, with dark hair (“I prefer being brunet”) and well-developed muscles (“Because babes love the muscles!”). The attention he garnered, however, were mostly _not_ from young girls but older women. He didn't mind – that much. But when his fitness instructors started coming on to him... Kon had balked. Kisuke and the rest had had a good laugh over it, but Kon remained optimistic that one day, a large-bosomed babe would want to feel all the muscles all over that sculpted bod.

Kisuke told Kon to relax and he tapped the little green pill out with his cane. Then he checked it over for problems, but found none.

“Hmm. Tessai, help me out?”

The large man appeared out of nowhere and hoisted the gigai over his shoulder. “Workshop?”

“Workshop.”

As the two made their way, the modsoul pill safely in Kisuke's pocket, Tessai asked quietly, “You have stopped drinking, boss?”

“Yes, thankfully. I'm sorry I tried to self-destruct,” said Kisuke as he pressed the combination for access to the lab. “Ichigo talked me out of it.”

“Not just talked, I presume.” Tessai's smile was small but evident. “You were gentle with him, right?”

“Tessai, what on earth are you talking about?” Kisuke busied himself with magnifiers and pliers.

Tessai shrugged. “Ichigo did undergo quite a bit of heartache with Kuchiki-taichou, boss. I think, to all the people who love him, the last thing they want to see is an unhappy Kurosaki-kun ever again.”

Kisuke peered up, his gray-green eyes hugely distorted by the magnifying glass perched before his face. “I didn't hurt him. I won't hurt him, Tessai.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

“So you can bring us over to their place tomorrow?” Ikkaku asked, chopsticks reaching for more tempura (courtesy of Ururu). There were stacks of photographs all over the floor – Jinta had gone a little too snap-happy with their camera.

Ichigo sat back in his chair. He was stuffed. “Yeah, I can drive you guys over. Who's going?”

“I am, since Ukitake gave me the mission specifically, and Kira too,” Ikkaku said. “Isshin?”

“Nah, I'm spending time with my beautiful daughters,” he answered. Then he turned pitiful eyes on Ichigo. “My son! Why aren't you willing to join your loving daddy on a picnic?”

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Because whenever we go on a picnic I end up having to beat off swarms of bees or other assorted insects. No thanks.”

Karin grinned. “Strange, that sorta thing never happens when we go out with daddy. Must be your amazing charisma, Ichi-nii – trouble finds you like flies to trash.”

“You're asking for your baby photos to be sent to Toushiro, you know that?”

Karin glared. “You won't dare.”

Yuzu chimed in innocently, “What makes you think I haven't already shown him, Karin-chan?”

Kisuke joined in the chuckling as Karin flipped her spoon at her sister. Ururu set another steaming platter on the table to curtail the horseplay, and everyone cheered at the sight of chili crabs, a dish that Yuzu and Ururu had learned while touring Singapore two years back. Ikkaku was polishing off another bowl of rice, engaging in a stomach race with Jinta. Tessai was exchanging old soldier tales with Isshin and Ichigo was joking with his sisters. It was nice having everyone back together.

But there was one person at the table who was distant and in his own world. Kisuke leaned to his left and asked, “Are you alright, Kira-san?”

“Huh? Oh, I apologize, I must have drifted off.” The pale blond smiled and picked up a morsel to nibble.

Kisuke's brows came together and he studied Kira's profile surreptitiously. He wasn't eating, just pushing tiny bits of food into his mouth and swallowing. Kisuke found it easy to blame Ichimaru – the bastard just _had_ to make it harder for Kira to move on, didn't he?

“Izuru, you're not eating,” Ikkaku suddenly said, and Kisuke then realized he hadn't been the only one who had noticed Kira's withdrawal. The bald man reached across the table to touch Kira's hand. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” smiled Kira, but the smile looked strained.

Ikkaku looked away in exasperation. “It's about him again, isn't it?”

The tension was a sudden blanket that draped over all the diners, and Isshin kicked Kisuke's ankle to get him to tell a joke. But there wasn't anything Kisuke could think of at the moment. Isshin took it upon himself. “Hey, for tomorrow what should we pack? I vote honey and bread, but not white bread because that's unhealthy.”

“Um, apples with sour cream,” volunteered Karin. Everyone tried to be busy again, adding nonsensical suggestions. Kisuke mentioned fish fingers and Ichigo asked how on earth fish could have fingers, it didn't make sense. “I mean, can't they call it fish sticks? It's a more sensible name-”

Ikkaku snapped abruptly, chopsticks clattering onto the table. “Five years, Kira, five bloody years and he can still do this t'ya?”

“Ikkaku, not now,” warned the pale blond, blue eyes darting around the quieted table. The flush rose along his cheeks and spread. “Not here.”

“Whatever,” Ikkaku said and pushed away.

Kira blinked and tried to smile at everyone else. “We're sorry. I'll go talk to him.”

“It's fine Kira-nii-san, go do what you have to do,” said Yuzu encouragingly. The rest affirmed the statement and the blond left.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

“ _...what the hell did he leave you, Kira? Pain and more pain!_ ”

Kisuke sometimes wished his reiatsu was that bit weaker. He knew he, Tessai, Isshin and Ichigo could hear every word that was filtering from the backyard. He tried to make more small talk and this time Tessai assisted with anecdotes of their trip, which Ururu and Jinta added to with different comments.

“ _Can't you just make a clean break? He's dead, damn it!_ ”

“So we jumped into the sea to grab the sea turtle which had made off with Jinta's bandanna,” Tessai said just a beat too slow.

Jinta laughed. “It looked like Leonardo from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, then it started swimming in circles and I couldn't catch up to it.”

“Ururu got so frustrated she punched the sea and drove a wave up like, fifteen feet high.”

“The people on the beach thought it was a tsunami!”

“And the way they ran for their lives?” Ururu giggled and the Kurosaki girls asked if they had footage of the incident.

Kisuke caught Isshin's eye and slipped out to the backyard.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

“Why do you let him affect you so damn fucking much, Kira?” demanded Ikkaku, hands bunched into fists. “And why aren't you answering me?”

“How am I supposed to when you keep attacking?” asked Kira, eyes large and injured. “Everything you've said thus far is about how much I can't let go. Well I bloody well can't just let go, Ikka. I can't.”

“Why the fuck can't you?” Ikkaku was almost roaring. “He's a total bastard! He hurt you, he had hurt you way before the betrayal and he's a fucking corpse now. Five years and you sink into brooding with one miserable song?!”

“What are you jealous about?” It was Kira's turn to scream at Ikkaku. Kisuke stopped at the threshold, certain that this was _not_ the time to intervene. “You know I have a place in my heart that will always be his. You said you're fine with it. You said it yourself, fuck you! You said you had one for Yumichika too, remember?”

Kisuke could see Ikkaku blanch with fury. “Don't you even dare to compare them,” Ikkaku hissed. “Don't you even fucking dare. Ichimaru was a-”

“Say it.” Kira stalked up to Ikkaku. The shopkeeper wondered how Ikkaku was able to stand his ground, because he would have run for his _life_ already. “Say it, Ikkaku. Finish the sentence. Who was he?”

“A twisted son of a bitch,” snarled Ikkaku. He glared down at the shorter Kira. “A psychopath who used and screwed you over, stepped on you like the doormat you are!”

The punch that Kira swung into Ikkaku's jaw made Kisuke wince. There was no way he was going out there to intervene, not when Kira was in that mood.

“Ichimaru-taichou was ten times the man you are,” Kira spat out. “He never hurt me. Never.”

“Yeah? The scars on your body say otherwise. I know, Izuru, those cuts weren't self-inflicted-”

“I made him mark me, I said before. I made him mark me.”

“Fucking body of lies.”

“I do _not_ lie, Ikkaku.”

“No? What about the part where you said you were in love with him? Kira,” Ikkaku said, gripping Kira's shoulders. “Wake up from the fantasy. He never loved you!”

Kira shoved Ikkaku's hands off. “I was never drowning in _any_ fantasy, Madarame Ikkaku. I knew he didn't love me, right from the start. He loved Aizen-taichou, he said it to me everyday. Every. Single. Fucking. Day. But I – _I_ was in love. _I_. Loved. Him. Me. I made the damn fucking choice! He made me stronger than I can ever thank him for, Ikkaku. He is the one who made me who I am!”

“Rubbish,” snapped Ikkaku. “Bleeding trash.”

“Yes, I was,” agreed Kira unexpectedly. Kisuke risked another peep. “I was trash. He made me strong enough to share the burden of carrying the division. Then he left so that I could get stronger, because I had become too reliant on his strength.”

“He betrayed you!”

“He asked me to follow him, I didn't. I was the one who betrayed him!”

“He bloody almost murdered your friends!”

“If I had followed him I'd have killed them myself!” Kira yelled into Ikkaku's face. “If he had been uncaring of my feelings, do you think Ichimaru-taichou wouldn't have killed Hinamori and Hitsugaya-taichou when Aizen-taichou left them half-dead? If I hadn't begged, Matsumoto would have been a pile of ashes instead of being sent back from Las Noches! Would you have done it? Go against the wishes of the one you love for someone else who loves you? Would you?!”

Ikkaku was shaking his head and stepping back. “You're _sick_ , Kira. You've been through so much, and you still stick up for him!”

Kira deflated. There was a long moment. Kira finally said, “Yes, I'm sick. I'm sick of this whole fucking thing. Ikka, we're done with this issue. You have a problem with me loving him the way I did, the way I do, then we're done as well.”

“You're giving me an ultimatum over that bastard?” Ikkaku's eyes widened.

Kira's voice was again the soft tone Kisuke was accustomed to. He sounded sad, tired, and cold. “Yes, I am. Either accept that I love him and I love you, or I will choose his memory over your presence.”

Without waiting for an answer, Kira ran out into the night, leaving Ikkaku standing motionless in the backyard.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Kisuke walked slowly back to the kitchen. Everyone had crowded to the front of the Shoten, where the television was turned to its loudest volume. Only Ichigo was left washing the dishes; it was his turn.

“We couldn't help hearing,” he said as Kisuke entered the small space and sat down.

The shopkeeper sighed. “I couldn't intervene.”

“We figured. Their emotions were running too high for anyone to intervene.” Ichigo dried his hands on the black and yellow apron he wore and then untied it. “How are they doing?”

“Badly,” said Kisuke and smiled tiredly at Ichigo. “We gotta give them some space to work it out.”

Ichigo sighed. They sat in silence before Ichigo remarked too-casually, “I heard from Dad that you told him about our night together.”

“Uh, yeah, I thought it had better be my confession rather than him hearing from others.”

“Figures.” Ichigo raised an irritated and embarrassed glance. “He just told me the top five best brands of lubricant and also where to purchase reliable information on, er, positions.”

“Positions.”

“Positions.” Ichigo blushed and peered at his fingers that had locked together. “With pictures and how-to guidelines.”

Kisuke raised his brows and rubbed his lips with his thumb. “Really. And you're telling me this because...”

“I think we should get it-”

“If it's information you need, I think I am a fount of knowledge in that aspect-”

“-for Kira and Ikkaku,” Ichigo finished firmly. He breathed out and looked at Kisuke straight in the eyes. “Really. Maybe some... humor or, y'know, would help them deal with whatever they are facing.”

Kisuke grinned. Ichigo was kind, despite his scowling face. “It's nice that you're thinking of them, Ichigo, but perhaps we should pass it to them after they have settled their differences. It'd be much more appreciated then, really.”

The orange-haired youth frowned, chewed on the inside of his cheek, then smiled up. “We should get it tomorrow then.”

Kisuke reminded himself that yes, Ichigo was an optimist and a believer, and his own private misgivings shouldn't dampen that touching faith that things would turn out all right. Besides, Ichigo had the bad habit of turning his beliefs into reality.

 


	9. 9.

Kisuke and Isshin shared a room with Tessai, while Ikkaku and Kira crashed with Ichigo. It was an okay arrangement, except that Kira had yet to return. And it was almost two in the morning. Ikkaku was antsy and kept turning and tossing, keeping Ichigo awake with the noise.

The redhead couldn't blame Ikkaku – he had had such fights before and it was impossible to sleep afterwards. It was also near impossible to just forget your pride and go make things right with the other person, because you were still hurt and confused and angry.

It hadn't helped that Byakuya had been such an arrogant, know-it-all, repressed idiot too. Even though four years had passed, the raven-haired shinigami captain had yet to talk to Ichigo to resolve their break up.

Ichigo sighed silently; he had enjoyed – somewhat – that short relationship with the noble. They had both known they were incompatible – they had _nothing_ in common other than protecting Rukia – but Byakuya had been inquisitive about the probability of it working and Ichigo had been too stubborn to recognize the defeat.

 _If only Byakuya had acknowledged that he isn't just a block of ice, perhaps we could have worked it out._ Ichigo smiled humorlessly. _Yeah, and while I'm at it, I wish that Rukia didn't die either._

While he didn't like to dwell on it, Ichigo knew the breaking point of his and Byakuya's liaison was Rukia's death. After Gin slew her in front of Renji, Byakuya became obsessively focused on locating Gin and revenging Rukia. Nothing Ichigo did could break that focus. Nothing anyone did could break that focus. Even Renji's emotional collapse had bypassed the formidable Kuchiki Byakuya intellect; Ichigo and Hisagi had been the ones to pick up the pieces.

There was a painful ache in Ichigo's throat when he compared the vibrant, loud and self-assured Renji he first got to know and the current silent, grave and humorless Renji. Hisagi had managed to crack the shell the redhead had built around himself, but nothing would bring the reckless bravado that so endeared him to his comrades in the first place.

Ikkaku behind Ichigo rolled over again, the meaty thump of his leg on the futon breaking into Ichigo's thoughts. Ikkaku had suffered loss too, Ichigo remembered. He had grieved along with Ise and Isane when they visited the beautiful and elegant grave marker, carved by Ikkaku himself for Ayasegawa Yumichika. The reiatsu-absorbing ability of his zanpakuto had killed Yumichika. Ikkaku sank into a nadir of despair and was actively trying to drown to death in alcohol, when Kira (of all people) literally kicked some sense into Ikkaku's head.

“I know I'm keepin' ya awake, Ichigo, sorry,” muttered Ikkaku.

Ichigo turned over. “It's okay. I don't have lessons tomorrow.” He hesitated, then ventured, “You sure you want to stay here?”

“Yeah. I'll wait, but I ain't lookin' fer him.”

“Aren't you worried?”

“He's a big boy, he can take care o' himself.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes before remembering that Ikkaku wouldn't know. “But he's been gone ages. Just say sorry and bring him back.”

Ikkaku was silent. His breathing was heavy, and Ichigo wondered what Ikkaku was thinking about. The bald man finally said, “I don't feel sorry for what I said. If I did feel sorry, I'd've been the first to tear off after 'im. But I don't.”

“What does feeling sorry have to do with it?” whispered Ichigo agitatedly.

“Everything. I'd've needed ta apologize ta get him to come back, see, and I ain't gonna lie.”

“You – you moron,” hissed Ichigo. Feeling exasperated with Ikkaku and the whole damn business, Ichigo kicked off his blanket and stomped out. He almost stepped on Yuki in the corridor, but the feline merely rubbed against his leg before padding into Jinta's bedroom.

It was after he hopped down the ladder rungs into the basement he noticed that the lights were on. Frowning, Ichigo called out, “Who is it?”

“Ichigo-san.” A lithe figure emerged from behind a rock. Kira brushed the back of his hand over his brow; he was perspiring freely. He had just had a workout, evidently, but it was not like it was a gym – Ichigo smiled when Kisuke emerged. Then the smile disappeared when Isshin appeared as well.

“Darling firstborn!” cried Isshin and ran to embrace Ichigo. “Did you miss daddy-taichou's bedtime stories so much you had to find-”

“NO.” Ichigo slammed the heel of his right palm into Isshin's face. “Kira, what are you doing here?”

The blond didn't look at Ichigo. “Training.”

“At two in the morning?” asked Ichigo. “Ikkaku's worried sick upstairs, even if he won't admit it.”

Kira awarded the redhead a cool look. “So?”

“So? Go on up, just – Kira.” Ichigo sighed. “You know he practically worships you. Just – just go up and you don't have to say a thing.”

“And admit that I was in the wrong? No.”

Ichigo was frustrated now. “What the hell is wrong with you two? Saying sorry is that hard?”

“That's our business and I'd thank you to keep out of it,” warned Kira icily. If the blond was channeling someone, than he had just brought Byakuya into the conversation. It riled Ichigo immediately.

“I'm concerned-”

Kisuke stepped in before it could turn into a pissing match. “Okay! It's late, we're all tired, and so shall we just adjourn to our beds?”

Stretching in the most fake yawn ever, Isshin casually directed his lieutenant towards the stairs, all the while engaging him in some conversation. If Isshin was boisterous idiocy with his blood-son Ichigo, he was tender protectiveness with Kira.

Kisuke rounded on Ichigo. “We were counseling him our way, Ichigo. You almost ruined it all.”

“What?” Ichigo was understandably confused. “He's here training with you guys when Ikkaku is wearing holes in his futon trying to sleep. I don't understand why you didn't just push him upstairs.”

The older blond sighed. “Ichigo, Kira Izuru is a very arrogant man, in case your thick, lead-lined head didn't realize. He knows his abilities and his limits, and that fact makes for a self-assured male. Add to the fact that he could keep Gin satisfied professionally and privately, and there you have a very accomplished shinigami and lover.”

“How would you know he kept Ichimaru satisfied?” asked Ichigo, somewhat sourly. “He told you?”

Kisuke whistled and sauntered past Ichigo. “My, grandmama, what big eyes you have,” he whispered in Ichigo's ears before he walked away. “I have my ways, Ichigo, and I've been reading people far longer than you.”

Irritated, the redhead followed the shopkeeper's footsteps. Just as they reached the base of the rungs, Kisuke paused.

“I'll follow you tomorrow to Aizen's place,” said Kisuke, not looking at Ichigo.

“You sure?” asked Ichigo, concerned. The last two times they had been there Kisuke had been very quiet and had remained so for the rest of the day. On the other hand he would appreciate any help in mediating between Kira and Ikkaku.

Kisuke half-turned, the striped hat obscuring his eyes. “I think I'm needed there. I do not have to like it.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The car's air-conditioning was not that cold, but the atmosphere was chilly enough to make Ichigo try not to shiver.

Kira sat in the front beside Ichigo who was driving, while Ikkaku sat directly behind Kira. It was half an hour's drive, and it felt far too long. The redhead almost sighed with relief when the car turned into the driveway, and he knew Kisuke had the same reaction when he glanced into the rear view mirror.

Kira got off the car without waiting and Ikkaku slammed the door hard enough to rattle.

“Glad you're here to help,” quipped Ichigo to the remaining passenger of his car.

Kisuke tipped his hat. “At your service, from the Urahara Shoten.”

They got out and strode to the door, where the other pair was waiting. Kisuke unlocked the door.

Ikkaku looked about him. The furnishings were still in place, though the rooms had been stripped to the bare minimum. “What d'ya want me t'do?”

“What was your mission about?” inquired Kisuke.

“Mm. Ukitake just said get as much info as I can from ya, and to assist you in research and recovery.”

Kira tugged on Ichigo's sleeve. “Could you please...” He couldn't finish his sentence, but Ichigo understood.

“This way.”

It was a familiar path down the corridor and then a right turn. Ichigo could still recall the first time he came to this house, observing how carefully Aizen had carried Ichimaru to the hammock in the lounge, and the frantic night before their deaths when he had sprinted to the bedroom in response to Ichimaru's shriek of fear.

Kisuke and Ichigo hadn't moved the gigai that Aizen and Ichimaru discarded since the day they left, figruing that it could wait until the bulkier items were moved. Privately Ichigo knew he didn't wish to disturb the peaceful scene that was laid out in the room. He also suspected that Kisuke was reluctant to touch either of the gigai. One had been his lover (part of Ichigo was incredibly jealous about that) and the other had been his lover's soulmate.

When Kira stepped into the bedroom he stopped breathing. Ichimaru was still lying on the bed, while Aizen was seated and bent over the frail form, his broad torso covering the slender one below him in a final embrace.

“Taichou,” Ichigo heard Kira whisper. The pale blond moved forward as if in a trance. His thin fingers reached out and touched first Ichimaru's foot.

Ichigo watched from the door as Kira walked steadily up to the two gigai. When Kira flattened his palm on Aizen's shoulder Ichigo thought he was going to push it aside. Instead Kira gently shifted Aizen and carried the gigai to a chair. “Thank you, Aizen-taichou, for making him happy at last,” said Kira and bowed to the lifeless gigai as it could hear.

Ichigo half-expected Aizen to reach out and pat Kira's head. He shook the notion out of his mind; Aizen was dead. Ichimaru was dead.

Kira returned to the bedside. The slim hand reached out and stroked the fine silver hair, parting it and brushing it from the closed eyes.

“Still so thin,” muttered Kira under his breath, but the words carried in the still air of the room. The blond sat down where Aizen's gigai had been. He then bent to kiss Ichimaru's brow and then the lips. Ichigo wondered vaguely if the gigai was still warm or was it cold like a corpse? Then he realized that Kira was trembling.

“Kira?”

“I'm – I'm fine. I just – could you give me some space?”

“Sure.” Ichigo slid back and closed the door.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Kisuke was directing the packing of several large volumes while he carried a slim laptop in his arms. Ichigo walked over to him and said softly, “Kira's upset.”

“In the bedroom?” asked Kisuke equally quietly.

“Mm-hmm. I don't know what to say to him.”

Kisuke glanced at Ikkaku who was on the far side of the study, boxing up the last few books. “It shouldn't be you who's going to say anything, Ichigo.” Raising his voice, Kisuke called Ikkaku over.

The captain put down the box he was carrying. “Yeah, what?”

“Go to the room down the corridor and on the right.”

“Why?”

“Recovery. Ichigo and I will load the boxes here onto the car, don't worry.”

Ikkaku shrugged and strode off.

“Let's go,” said Kisuke, pulling Ichigo with him. “We'll leave them here for an hour or two. Perhaps three.”

“What? But the books-”

“Screw the books. Come on, we leave now.” Kisuke winked conspiratorially at Ichigo. “I'll even buy you a mocha.”

“Huh?” Ichigo frowned as he was tugged along and then finally the light bulb above his head sputtered to life. “Oh. Oh! Okay!”

The two quickly exited, started the car, and drove out of the compound.

Ichigo blew out a breath he had been holding. “Let's hope this works.”

“Since when have my plans failed?” said Kisuke. Ichigo raised his brows at the blond shopkeeper. Kisuke smirked. “Okay, bad mention. Let's just get your mocha.”


	10. 10.

Ichigo drove past the nearer coffee house and instead took them to another one down the road, the _Blue Danube_. Kisuke wondered why – Ichigo was paying his own fuel these days and that wasn't cheap. Maybe the young man just wanted to give Ikkaku and Kira more time to make up, though that could be easily accomplished by staying longer at the coffee house.

_Hmm._

After they had parked the car and placed their orders, Kisuke led the way to a cozy nook on the second level of the narrow shop. There were some high school girls and an old man seated at various tables, so Kisuke chose the most private space available. He heard some muffled chatter behind when Ichigo squeezed past the tall-backed armchair to follow him onto a plump, upholstered sofa.

“I think it's time for me to exercise more,” Ichigo remarked, patting his flat abdomen. “I shouldn't have that much trouble walking through the aisle.”

“I'm sure they put the chairs too close together,” assured Kisuke. He was very certain the girls were interested in Ichigo. He also made sure he sat facing the schoolgirls so that he could ascertain how much they were ogling _his_ Ichigo. One of them apparently wanted to come over and pass Ichigo her number; her mobile was open and she was blushing, being egged on by her mates.

Objectively, Kisuke considered her pretty. Short dark hair cut in a bob, large eyes with lovely long lashes, cute mouth that showed a dimple when she smiled. Subjectively Kisuke wanted to put up a barbed wire fence between her and Ichigo, and replete with drooling Dobermans. Before she could get up from her chair, Kisuke directed a “death-to-all-trespassers” glare at her. She blinked.

Ichigo muttered, “Do stop terrorizing the poor kid, Kisuke.”

“I'm not,” Kisuke said, the glare's ferocity turned up a notch.

“Riiiiight,” said Ichigo, thoroughly amused. “She's quailing in her chair because you've been so darn charming and personable.”

Kisuke flashed a look at Ichigo, who was by now absorbed in a magazine about movies. In the end the blond relaxed and sank into his own chair. The warm afternoon sun slanted in through the wooden blinds, and there was the fragrance of coffee lingering in the air. With a sigh Kisuke resigned himself to his herbal infusion – he would be stuttering and jittery with a single cup of coffee.

The short-haired girl was standing up again, urged on by her friends. When Ichigo saw Kisuke narrowing his gray eyes he rolled his eyes, then grabbed Kisuke's hand. “Hey, Kisuke.”

“Yes?” He was still watching the girl who navigated her slender body past the spindly table in her way.

“We are officially a couple now,” Ichigo stated firmly and loudly. “Whether you like it or not.”

Kisuke, preoccupied with the glaring, replied, “Okay.”

Message received.

Message processed.

Pause.

Pause some more.

“What?”

Ichigo raised his brows. “You have objections?”

The blond blinked rapidly. “What? No, no no, I mean, _what_?”

The young man grinned. The girl, hearing that, backed off. Her gaggle of friends twisted around in their seats, trying to comprehend the drama unfolding. The old man was the only one who wasn't reacting, probably because he couldn't hear a trumpet blasting two inches from his ears.

“I said,” repeated Ichigo slowly and carefully, “that we are officially a couple now. I want to be yours, exclusively.”

Kisuke's brain started to fizzle out. Finally he managed to say something. “Oh.”

The redhead frowned. “That's not very encouraging.”

“Oh,” repeated Kisuke. The waiter placed their drinks on the table, heedless of Kisuke's open-mouthed staring and the high school teenagers now huddled together. Ichigo resumed reading, but peered over the top of his magazine.

Then, fed-up, he waved a hand over Kisuke's eyes. “Anyone home?”

The blond blinked. Then he broke into a wide smile, before the happy expression turned into a worried frown. “Are you serious? I'm really not a good boyfriend-”

“You are as good a boyfriend as you wish to be,” interrupted Ichigo sternly. “Just because you and Aizen and Yoruichi didn't turn out well, don't pass early judgment on what we may have. Besides, I like you enough to give you many chances.”

Kisuke was rather confused, in a happy sort of way. Then, to ease the burbling in his stomach that not even the peppermint tea could relax, he asked, “Why didn't we go to the coffee place closer to the house?”

The youth stiffened and he put down the magazine. “Bad associations,” he murmured. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I know it's been years, but I have trouble letting go sometimes. And... what happened in there... that was hard to let go.”

Perplexed, Kisuke sipped his tea. The warmth of the coffee house was a lullaby; the blond could feel his every cell relaxing. The schoolgirls, seeing that there was little chance of drama, exited. The old man with his floppy hat and old sweater remained, but he was practically non-existent.

“Care to share?” Kisuke probed gently after a few minutes. Ichigo turned to look out the window, away from Kisuke. For a long moment the shopkeeper thought he had crossed a line.

Ichigo started so softly Kisuke thought he had misheard. “I broke up with Byakuya there.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

This was the first time Byakuya had voluntarily come to the human realm. Previous excursions had been on orders or because Ichigo dragged him out of his lair he called a mansion. Ichigo wished he could be happier about it.

“I'm glad you are punctual,” Byakuya said as Ichigo sat down in a rattan chair.

 _That formality... he's decided._ Ichigo found that the understanding of one fact didn't make it any more palatable to swallow.

Byakuya turned the cup of tea in his hands counter clockwise. Beautiful hands, like those of a pianist; those fingers played with Ichigo's heart and were now carelessly crushing it. “I appreciate your sentiment with regards to how I treat my lieutenant. However, Abarai is and remains my lieutenant and I expect no less than complete devotion to duty from him.”

“Renji was going to be your brother-in-law this week,” Ichigo reminded him ruthlessly.

“Circumstances have changed.”

Ichigo looked away. “Yeah. They have. Rukia died no less than a month ago and you've already relegated her to the status of 'circumstance'. Well done, Kuchiki Byakuya. You've mastered the art of a being a heartless bastard.”

“Say what you will,” said Byakuya, as impassive as ever. “I came not to engage in petty banter.”

“Then what are you here for? To ignore us as you did that day? When Hisagi and I tried to reason with you, to get you to see that Renji is in severe need of psychiatric counseling?”

Byakuya sipped his tea. “There is nothing wrong with Abarai, I repeat. He is merely putting more effort into his work in a bid to absorb the enormity of losing his fiancée.”

“He works every hour of every day. He barely sleeps. He eats only enough to keep himself going. And you – you watched this every single day and you haven't mentioned it to anyone. You don't even see how wrong it is?”

“Again, Ichigo, I reiterate that Abarai is and remains my lieutenant. I will know what to do with him. My purpose here today is not to rehash the fiasco of yesterday's disagreement. It is to discuss the termination of our relationship.”

Ichigo's coffee was getting cold. He kept the roiling anger and sorrow within – he had failed. Not just in saving Renji from himself, but also Byakuya too. He had again disappeared into the chilly shell, again detached himself from all emotion.

“There's no chance of going back to what we had before, is there?” Ichigo asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.

It was beginning to drizzle outside. Ichigo inhaled deeply; it hadn't been that long ago when he had taken Byakuya on a walkabout in Karakura, and they had taken shelter right in this particular coffee house. It was a memory to be superseded by this, Ichigo knew. Whatever tenderness he had for that little slice of happiness would be drowned by furious regret and heartache.

“No, there is not,” said Byakuya. He finished his tea. “I have to leave now. Work awaits back in Seireitei.” Before he could go, however, the young man of seventeen took hold of his sleeve.

Ichigo asked in a low voice, never once looking into those clear gray eyes, “Is this even a little hard for you, Byakuya?”

The shinigami noble paused and considered. Then he disengaged his white shirt from Ichigo's grasp. “It's best for you to leave things as they are, Ichigo. What we had... is something I will recall with fondness, but it was a mere autumn fancy, nothing more.”

“Nothing more,” Ichigo echoed numbly, and let his hand fall into his lap. He sat there until it was time to close shop, and then he went home.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ichigo finished his recount, not once looking at Kisuke. Wisely the shopkeeper diverted the topic. “Do you think Ikkaku and Kira will make up?”

“I hope so,” replied Ichigo. “I hate hearing couples fight, especially when they're so right for each other.”

“Are they now?” wondered Kisuke aloud. He studied the orange-haired young man lounging in the sofa, the cup of mocha already half-empty. _Half-empty. Does that make me a pessimist?_ ”Ichigo, you want another cup of mocha?”

Ichigo looked at the amount he had in his cup. “It's fine. It's still half-full.”

 _Hmm. Interesting._ The blond looked around for a clock and found none. “What time is it now, Ichigo?”

Ichigo looked at his mobile phone. “One-twenty.”

“Still early...” Kisuke mused. “I do hope they're getting naked.”

“Not everything is about sex, Kisuke,” Ichigo said and rolled his eyes.

Kisuke smiled crookedly. “Nonetheless, make-up sex is always the best. Didn't your daddy teach you that?”

“As if I had nothing better to do than listen to his the-birds-and-the-bees talks,” said Ichigo. “He used actual porn to teach me body parts, could you believe that? I swear I was traumatized. Thankfully he didn't try that with the girls, else I would have killed him or something.”

“That would be patricide,” remarked Kisuke. “Is the porn the reason why you've turned out the way you have? Because then I'll have to treat your father to a delicious steak. I'd never have gotten you otherwise.”

“I'll hold you to your word,” said Isshin.

 _Whoa!_ “Where did you come from?” yelped Ichigo, sitting straight in the sofa, sending cushions flying.

Kisuke was no less surprised. Then he noticed the sagging dark green sweater and the floppy hat. “You tailed us, didn't you?”

“Of course!” beamed Isshin. “I was afraid you'll get your perverted hands all over my son out in public!”

“Dad!”

“I have to protect my only son's virtue!” said Isshin. Then he narrowed his eyes and added, “What's left of it anyway, since he's offered it to Kuchiki Byakuya and you already.”

Ichigo's eyes bugged out. “Dad! Shut up!”

“Whaaaat? I'm telling the truth!” Isshin pouted. Kisuke shuddered; if it was Ichigo pouting it would be gosh-darned sexy, but Isshin?! _Eurgh._

Ichigo evidently felt the same way. “Dad, when you're yourself it's irritating, when you're serious it's freaky, but when you're trying to be ingratiatingly cute you're just bloody creepy.”

“I have to agree, Isshin.” Kisuke fluttered his fan.

Isshin pouted further. “Ichigo, are you and Kisuke joining forces against me? You darling, beloved daddy?”

“YES!” yelled Ichigo, smooshing a cushion into his father's face and pushing him back.

Isshin grabbed the cushion off his face and chuckled. “Thank gods. I don't have to play the clown any more.”

“We never asked you to,” pointed out Ichigo, grudgingly allowing his father to sit beside him.

Isshin schooled his expression into a more serious look. “How is Kira doing?”

Kisuke snapped the fan shut. “Breakdown. He's still under Ichimaru's power.”

“He has no intention of reclaiming it, has he?” asked Isshin. Ichigo kept out of the conversation, since he had no idea what the two were talking about. Kisuke glanced at Ichigo and granted a faint smile; he would take the time to explain another day. Isshin went on. “Ikkaku?”

“Hopefully, now comforting Kira. Isshin, I've been thinking...” Kisuke leaned forward. “I think we shouldn't try to break whatever dependence Kira has on his memory.”

Isshin frowned. “Why not? It's clearly affected his judgment – how he behaved when Aizen and Ichimaru turned up in Seireitei is gossip-mill fodder. It will turn and bite him in the arse.”

“But Kira feels that he's strong because of Ichimaru,” Ichigo interjected quietly. “That's what he said. And when I left him with the two gigai Kira wasn't like, completely out-of-it, just overcome with emotion.”

Isshin looked curiously at his son. “What do you recommend we do then?”

Ichigo was surprised. “You're asking my opinion?”

“Adult to adult, yes.” Isshin tilted his head. “What do you recommend then?”

The young man caught Kisuke's encouraging gaze. He nibbled on his upper lip. “Mmm... Kira still loves Ichimaru, that's true, but he also loves Ikkaku. And I think the problem isn't a problem at all.”

“Explain,” said Kisuke, taking a sip of his tea.

“Kira has obviously adapted to the absence of Ichimaru in his life. If anything, Ichimaru is like... like a spiritual leader for Kira, or a, a goal to aim for. They've shared some deep bond before, I guess, but I think you're overthinking this.”

Isshin shared a look with his good friend, who pushed his striped hat lower.

Ichigo continued thoughtfully, “Ikkaku's jealous, understandably, but it's not something they can't discuss properly. As for the gossip, well, there's always gossip, y'know?” Isshin placed a hand on Ichigo's brow. The youth smacked it away. “What?”

“You sure you're alright, Ichigo? You're not this perceptive.” Isshin's eyes widened and he pointed a finger at Ichigo. “Or you've been possessed! You're not my son at all!”

“Quit it, dad,” growled Ichigo. Kisuke was chuckling behind his fan. Ichigo tossed a balled up napkin at the blond as well. “You too. Stop laughing.”

“Sorry Ichigo, it's just – hehehe – after years of seeing how you were the last to grasp anything more complicated than 'destroy everything in my way' in your thick head, this is remarkable. Almost miraculous, one could say.” Kisuke's smirk remained though he had stopped chuckling. “Did you, perhaps, undergo a personality transplant?”

Neither Isshin nor Kisuke were prepared for Ichigo's answer. The young man looked at his hands and said, “After Byakuya I decided to forget about... forget about love, loving people, all that shit. It hurt too damn much, y'know? And then I saw how carefully Hisagi helped Renji, and then with Ikkaku and Kira hooking up... and the past few months, when I saw how even Aizen and Ichimaru could – could love, to such depth, such completeness... I just found myself contemplating more about love, about being a lover. About being in a relationship.”

Kisuke felt a twinge under his heart. Somehow he still thought of Ichigo as the prudish and powerful teenager, the one who blushed at the sight of naked _anyone,_ the one who challenged Soul Society and Hueco Mundo and emerged, if not unscathed, then alive and more vibrantly himself. His perception had stagnated and, judging by the respect and pride in Isshin's eyes, his friend had missed seeing the emotional maturing of his son as well. But then again, Isshin had reason – the man was now living in Seireitei and saw Ichigo but once every few months, but Kisuke saw him everyday.

With a start Kisuke wondered when his own realignment of perceptions had taken place. When did he start to see Ichigo as potential mate instead of someone under his protection? Had he even noticed the change within himself? It certainly had been before that night in Kisuke's room. Perhaps before Sousuke's death, even, though prior to that he had been focused on saving Ichimaru.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The bright chirrup of his email inbox stirred Kisuke from his doze. The blond had fallen asleep in front of his computer again. Slapping his cheeks lightly to wake up more fully, Kisuke then opened the message.

_'Ki, I need your help. Come to the Eighth Street coffee house, the Blue Danube. Sou.'_

Kisuke froze. Aizen Sousuke? Here? In Karakura? Kisuke checked the time display: it was only five-thirty in the evening. The coffee house would be open. Briefly the shopkeeper thought about contacting Ukitake, but pushed the idea away. If Sousuke had signed off using Sou, that meant he needed to see Kisuke as a friend.

And, if he was honest with himself, with the first five words, Kisuke would have gone to the ends of the earth for his ex-lover.

Tessai was cooking, Ururu was sweeping, Jinta was in the attic sorting through old boxes, Ichigo had yet to return from his high school classmates' gathering, the twins were doing homework. Kisuke jotted a short note for Tessai and sped off to the coffee house.

Aizen was seated on the second level, which was deserted. There was a cup in front of him, but it looked untouched. When Kisuke sat down, Aizen smiled politely. “Thank you for coming.”

“What is it?” Kisuke asked. Aizen was pallid and there were faint lines around the edges of his eyes.

Aizen closed his eyes and turned away. “Gin collapsed. The hogyoku has turned malignant.”

Kisuke frowned. “You can't remove it?”

“It has fused with his soul,” said Aizen softly. “If I tried, I will kill him.”

“You can't do that,” stated Kisuke. It was curious; Aizen had slain many without a second thought: witness Hinamori, poor devoted fool.

“I can do that, but I will not.” Aizen flicked his gaze up at Kisuke. “I need your help.”

Kisuke considered. Aizen was asking for a lot, he knew, because the proble was so huge Aizen couldn't solve it himself. After a long pause, Kisuke nodded tightly. “What do you need?”

“I need to communicate with Unohana without being discovered or traced. And I need access to Seireitei's library and archives through your connections.”

“That's a lot to ask,” Kisuke commented.

Aizen took Kisuke's hand. “Help me save him, and I will let Soul Society do as they will with me. I won't retaliate nor free myself. I will accept whatever fate they have for me. Just help me save him.” After a long beat, Kisuke tightened his grip on Aizen's fingers. Aizen smiled again. “I promise – anything, in return for Gin's life.”

“You love him that much?” Kisuke couldn't help asking. He had asked once, a long time ago, and he still couldn't believe it.

Aizen blinked. “He is dying, Ki. I don't have the time for such questions. Save him.”

“Do you love him?” asked Kisuke again, needing to hear an answer.

Aizen stood up, towering over Kisuke. “Save him. Please, Ki. Anything. Just save him.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

“We should be going back,” said Ichigo. “Hopefully they've made up.”

Isshin shrugged. “Hopefully you can catch them in compromising positions. Incidentally, I've bought the magazines and they're in your room, Ichigo. Anytime you wish to try them out, do make sure you find a soundproof room because I heard that those positions are really-”

“DAD!” Ichigo yelped, covering his ears. “I do NOT want to know!” He ran down the stairs.

Kisuke adjusted the hat on his head. “Thanks, Isshin. Don't worry, I'll find a soundproof area somewhere in my humble abode.”

Isshin flattened a hand on Kisuke's chest before the blond could follow Ichigo. Isshin looked at his friend. “Don't hurt him, Kisuke. I want him happy. The way he is these days.”

“Happy Ichigo. Got that.”

 


	11. 11.

Isshin said he would go back to the shop first. The other two returned to Aizen's old place. Only Kira was there waiting.

“Urahara-san. Ichigo-kun.” The blond stood up from the couch where he had been sitting. “The gigai are ready for return.”

“Where's Ikkaku?” asked Ichigo. Kisuke sighed; the young man was still a novice at tact and quiet observation.

Already on the way to the room, Kira paused, only for an infinitesimally short moment, before smoothly replying, “He had to leave.”

Ichigo furrowed his brow. “Now? I thought-”

“Ichigo,” cut in Kisuke quietly. “Shut up.”

“It's alright, Urahara-san,” said Kira from the corridor. He faced the two of them. “Ikkaku... I should say, Madarame-taichou, has deliberated over the choice I offered him and has made his decision.”

Ichigo stepped forward. “You mean...”

“He has decided that he can no longer live with me as long as I love Ichimaru-taichou.” Kira gazed straight at them, eyes clear, face resolute. “Hence we will no longer be together.”

Then he bowed a little to Kisuke and Ichigo. “Thank you both, though, for giving us the chance. Now, we have work to do.”

Kisuke was the one who trailed after Kira to take the gigai. Ichigo was tasked with loading the boxes from the study into the car. Somehow Ichigo had always been under the impression that Kira was weaker, softer, more emotional than Ikkaku. But when Kira had announced the end of his relationship with Ikkaku, he saw Kira Izuru as he was – and perhaps how Kisuke had seen him – and Kira was strong.

Here was someone who had lived through a loveless yet destructively sexual relationship with Ichimaru. Here was a man who had taken over the reins of a severely demoralized division, held it together through sheer grit and determination, and trained them well enough to participate in the war. And Kira also reawakened Ikkaku from his grief, assisted Hisagi with helping Renji recuperate, and helped Hitsugaya with Matsumoto's therapy.

Weak? Soft?

Ichigo shook his head as he placed the final box in the boot of his car. He had been so superficial, judging others using the first impression he had of them! Inoue, Renji, Ishida, Kisuke... even Kisuke.

Thinking of his “boyfriend” (oh dear lord, what had possessed him to make that statement?!), Ichigo felt a sweet pang spread from the base of his chest all through his torso. The odd, mysterious shopkeeper he first met altered in Ichigo's eyes with every revelation he received through others. Shopkeeper with shady links to shadier sources of dodgy items. Former captain. Founder of the research bureau. Warrior. Victim. Schemer. Protector. Friend.

_Lover._

Ichigo blinked to clear his mind. When did he start thinking of Kisuke as a lover, really? That night when he slept with Kisuke had been a sort of consolation act, if he had to be honest with himself. He had wanted the older man to stop hurting, to stop thinking, to stop yearning for what was lost and to focus on the here and now. But when he looked into the storm-gray eyes he had felt a tingle from his heels to the tip of his head, and there had been a strange, familiar warmth wrapping about the two of them.

_Familiar warmth?_

Ichigo frowned. Before he could come to a conclusion Kira and Kisuke had emerged from the house. Kira held Ichimaru's gigai while Kisuke carried Aizen's. The two gigai looked as if they were drunk and needed friends to hold them up. Somehow, the ease with which Kira carried Ichimaru signaled that it hadn't been the first time he had done such things. Kisuke also had the gigai of Aizen's arm slung over his shoulders and was supporting it by tucking it close to his waist.

Ichigo was jealous of that contact, of the way Aizen's form leaned into Kisuke so intimately, molding into that lean, warm form. He opened the back doors and waited, silently seething, while Kira and Kisuke loaded the gigai.

Kira said to both of them, “I'll go check if anything is left behind.”

“We'll wait,” assured Kisuke.

When Kira had returned to the dark-eaved recesses of the house, Kisuke stepped close behind Ichigo. “What's eating you?”

“Nothing,” said Ichigo, refusing to rise to the bait even when Kisuke snaked an arm about his waist. “Stop that. Kira might see.”

Kisuke affected a hurt tone. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“Whatever would give you that idea?” sniped Ichigo and shook Kisuke off. “Get in the car. Kira's coming out.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

When the trio returned, Isshin was sitting in the living room with Ururu and Jinta, teaching them about the value of cartoons and animated movies over action blockbusters. “Hey all! Darling spawn, come and give me a hug.”

“Spawn?” remarked Ichigo. “That's new.”

“Well, you don't like terms of endearment,” said Isshin resignedly. “Anyhoo, do we have the things we need?”

Kira entered and nodded. “Yes. The gigai are ready for transport. I'll open the gate straight to the Research Bureau. Urahara-san is uploading the files from Aizen's laptop into a disk. Once he's done we can leave.”

“Oh. Good.” Isshin nodded. Jinta heard Tessai calling and pulled Ururu to her feet. “Alright, bye kids! Remember: the Invisible Jumpsuits are always more powerful than the Duck Feet in the Go Go Hirako game!”

“Yes sir!” laughed the kids and dashed out to assist Tessai in cleaning windows. Ichigo knew the two would be fighting over who got to use the hose and who would be stuck with the squeegee.

_Now how did I know that? Oh right. They do it every fortnight._

It was nice, having a routine he had memorized without being aware that he had done so. Perhaps that was why he had so willingly ( _:and eagerly:_ ) chosen to sleep with Kisuke. They had been so accustomed to each other's presence and had thus mistaken it for affection beyond what it meant.

But no – Ichigo knew, _knew_ in his heart that he was... he was...

_:Oh just say it, King. Whatcha acting shy for, eh? You weren't shy about jumping his bones.:_

_I seem to recall I was the jumpee._

_:Ha. So say you. Anyway, admit that you're madly in lust. And also in (eurgh) love.:_

_Shut up. Let the old man out, will ya? I wanna talk to him._

_:No can do.:_

Ichigo exhaled slowly. It was irritating not having Zangetsu to rely on, and having to depend on a borderline sociopath in himself to defend himself and people he loved. Then he realized that Isshin had been waving a hand before his eyes for the past minute.

“Ichigo?”

“Yeah, dad. Sorry, just... drifted off.” Ichigo half-grinned. “What is it?”

“I asked Kira where Ikkaku is and he exited without a word. He's never done that,” said Isshin, concerned. “Where is the old baldie, anyway?”

Ichigo folded his arms. “He left.”

“Left as in returned to Soul Society?”

“And also as in left Kira.”

Isshin's eyes darkened. “The bastard,” he swore under his breath. “He said he'll make Kira happy.”

“Kira didn't seem too upset,” offered Ichigo. “I think it's sort of mutual.”

Isshin didn't seem placated, but dropped the subject when Kira returned with a disk and Ichimaru's gigai. Kisuke was behind him, the second gigai over his shoulder. The blond lieutenant bowed. “We're ready, taichou.”

“Alright. Drop by to see us when Chad returns, Ichigo. Be good, tell Karin and Yuzu also.”

“Yeah, yeah...” said Ichigo and got to his feet. He exchanged a tight hug with his dad before Kira opened the gate. “Bye now.”

“If you have any issues with the information or the gigai, just drop me a line. The connection can be opened from downstairs easily,” said Kisuke to Kira. The two shinigami waved and left, the shoji-styled doors sliding shut.

Ichigo folded his arms, feeling uncomfortable. He was more than aware that his father, when not here with him and his sisters, was risking his life in Hueco Mundo, hunting down the remnants of Aizen's vast army. Halibel had come to a truce with the shinigami and humans, but there were those who did not answer to her and still believed in taking down those who purified them.

Kisuke took his hat off and combed through thick blond strands with his fingers. “I guess that's that,” he said quietly.

With a small smile Ichigo nodded in agreement. The house was ready for sale now. Perhaps Ishida could be persuaded to purchase it, seeing how much the guy wanted out of his father's sight. Or maybe he, Chad, Grimmjow, and Tatsuki could move in and pay rent for it – it was certainly large enough. Then Karin and Yuzu would be able to live with them all... Ichigo liked the idea.

“Ichigo, I don't think we should sell the house,” said Kisuke. The redhead tilted his head and studied the blond. “In fact, it's large enough to fit Tessai, Jinta, Ururu, the twins, you and me, along with Grimmjow.”

“I was thinking along the same lines,” admitted Ichigo.

“Great minds,” commented Kisuke wryly. Then his face fell. “But my shop can't be sold, since the training area is directly above it.”

Ichigo shrugged. “Guess you'll have to stay in this poky little place while Tatsuki move in to take yours in the new house.”

Kisuke narrowed his gray-green eyes. Then he swiveled on his heel and stalked out, jamming his hat back on his head. Ichigo wondered if he had said something to irritate the shopkeeper, but as he ran through the conversation he couldn't find anything that would have angered the blond. The chiming of the clock in the hallway reminded Ichigo that he had more things to worry about: Tatsuki had finished her tutorial at three, and they had to pick up Grimmjow before they headed to the airport for Chad.

“I'm going out!” Ichigo told Tessai. Ururu was stuck with the squeegee and looked mournful, while Jinta was excitedly spraying the windows with soapy water. “I'll be back late. Don't keep dinner.”

“Alright, Ichigo-san,” answered Ururu sweetly. She scraped the rubber squeegee down and Ichigo shuddered at the shrill sound.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Tatsuki propped her chin in her palm. Grimmjow was sprawled in the backseat, fingers tapping an irregular rhythm on the seat. Finally she snapped. “Would you just stop that? It's driving me nuts!”

“Hey,” snarled Grinnjow, his shock of brilliant turquoise hair seeming to crackle with energy, “I just don't like being in an enclosed space, alright? Reminds me too much of the cage.”

“You could have stayed home,” said Tatsuki irritably.

“You could have just shut up and put up with it,” retorted Grimmjow.

Ichigo kept his mouth shut. They had been like this ever since they picked up the ex-arrancar, but Ichigo knew better than to intervene. Grimmjow and Tatsuki got along well enough, but when they had a fight the person who stuck his nose in would come back with a bloody face. They would sort it out in their own time and in their own way.

Tatsuki reached back and punched Grimmjow's knee. Grimmjow huffed but didn't retaliate, merely stopped that incessant tapping. Tatsuki looked to the front and asked casually, “What time is he arriving?”

“He should have landed already,” answered Ichigo. “If not for this bloody-stupid-traffic-jam we ought to have reached!”

“Ease up, Berry-chan,” drawled the Espada renegade behind. “I'll give him a call, tell him we're trapped in traffic. Suki?”

The brunette directed a deadly glare via the rear-view mirror and then handed a slim cell phone over. Ichigo heard Grimmjow chuckle as he unlocked the keypad but didn't know why; Tatsuki beside him rolled her eyes. That must be some inside joke.

“Yeah, Grimm here... We're stuck in traffic. Mm-hmm. Yep. Bye.” Grimmjow returned the cell phone. “Sado says he'll wait in the bookstore.”

Ichigo inched the car forward, growling with frustration. Tatsuki sighed and rested her head against the window. Grimmjow began his tapping again.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

By the time they reached the airport, Ichigo's nerves were worn to the nub. Chad was there in the bookstore, absorbed in a large book about the making of guitars.

“Chad, hey,” greeted Ichigo. “Sorry for the wait.”

“It's alright,” said Chad with a small smile. Then he peered at Ichigo. “You're attached now.”

Ichigo turned to glare at his passengers. Both Grimmjow and Tatsuki held up their hands in protest. “I didn't say anything.” “I wasn't even sure.”

The redhead sighed and faced his tall friend again. “How the hell did you know?”

Chad shrugged eloquently, and slung his pack over his shoulder. He smiled wider but said no more.

“I see.” Ichigo sighed again, knowing that was about as much of an explanation he was going to get. Grimmjow looked confused. “What the hell?”

Tatsuki patted his shoulder. “They're slipping back to their personal code. Get over it.”

Ichigo grabbed the guitar case and the laptop bag. He was about to yell for Grimmjow to put himself to use when Chad shook his head. Both turned.

The ex-Espada was whispering something in Tatsuki's ear and the girl smiled before smacking him on the arm. Chad raised an eyebrow – not that Ichigo could really see – and Ichigo nodded with a grin. “Yep.”

“Hmm,” answered Chad, shouldering his pack again. Grimmjow walked over and took the largest case, while Tatsuki hefted a backpack over her shoulders.

Grimmjow dumped the case into the boot. “Where shall we have dinner?”

“McDonald's!” exclaimed Tatsuki. She beamed cheerily at Ichigo, who laughed. The fast food franchise benefited from her enthusiasm: it was the only junk food she allowed herself to eat. Chad nodded agreement and the three classmates left Grimmjow grumbling about the choice.

The quartet left the airport, talking about the gathering tomorrow; it was good to have the gang back together. Tatsuki, now squashed in the back with Grimmjow and the packs, asked, “When and where shall we meet tomorrow?”

“I have lessons in the morning, and a project meeting at two, but I'm free from four onwards,” said Ichigo, cutting across the lane of an extremely slow driver. Grimmjow, seated closer to the window, flipped the finger at the driver. Ichigo sped on, glad that the way out was much more rapid than the way in. “As for where... well, we could always use Kisuke's basement for a barbecue.”

“It's settled then,” said Tatsuki. “Five o'clock, Urahara's basement, BYO barbecue food.”

Chad suddenly grinned and looked over at Ichigo. The redhead rolled his eyes. “Yes, it's him. And I have no idea why all of you know just by the way I call him.”

“Uh-”

“Except Grimmjow.”

Tatsuki leaned back into her seat, conveniently under Grimmjow's arm. “Because we are smarter than you?”

Ichigo snorted. “Y'know, you can walk home, okay?”

“Ain't sayin' nothing,” she added with a smirk. In the mirror, Ichigo noted how Grimmjow tucked her closer to him. He smiled to himself; there must be something in the air if everyone seemed to be linking up. Then he remembered Kira and Ikkaku's parting earlier and the smile faded slightly.

Also, what was Kisuke bothered about earlier?

 


	12. 12.

Laden with barbecued wings, Orihime bounced over to the table where Ichigo and Chad were talking about the latest movies. “Sado-kun, Kurosaki-kun, Kon-san, here are yours, and please keep some for Urahara-san and the rest when they reach.”

“Thanks, Inoue,” said Ichigo distractedly. “See, the thing is Nuada is inherently more interesting as a character, which means bringing him back is a safer option than crafting an entirely new villain which may not even be a believable one.”

Chad grunted disagreement. “The canon becomes illogical.”

“It's a movie based on a comic series, it's not meant to be logical,” Kon put in.

Lost in comic-geek-land, Orihime shrugged and returned to Ishida, who had put himself in charge of the grill and was dressed in a white apron and a chef's hat, both items of clothing courtesy of Orihime. The slim young man smiled at his girlfriend and dropped a kiss on her nose. Ishida flipped the meat patty over and asked, “Where are the rest?”

“Asano-kun will be late, and Kojima-kun is in Taipei with his girlfriends.” Orihime picked up a mushroom from the platter of cooked food and fed it to Ishida. “Grimmjow and Tatsuki are preparing the sashimi and sushi platter you made Father pay for.”

“So they won't be emerging from the house for half an hour?” asked the Quincy.

Orihime giggled. “At least.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Kisuke had considered turning down the invitation. He had work to do.

But Ururu had turned her large, mournful eyes on him, and Jinta had added his pleas because the Kurosaki girls were going, and Tessai had volunteered to continue the job – Urahara Kisuke knew when he was beaten.

The kids were walking in front, setting a brisk pace. Kisuke thought hard and long about telling them, but they might reveal the secret and it would not be right. Still, Ichigo should like it when it was completed. Ever since Sado came back for his break, Kisuke and Ichigo had not had time to sit and converse. Not that the older man was begrudging Ichigo his bonding sessions with Sado: the young redhead looked much happier and more relaxed, especially after the whole Ikkaku/Kira incident. Discreet inquiries had indicated that Kira was working off the breakup blues, and Ikkaku had devoted more time to his division than ever before, even to the extent of punctually handing in all paperwork. Hisagi and Renji were dividing their time between their two friends, while Isshin kept a watchful eye over his lieutenant.

The change in location from his basement to Ishida's backyard was mostly due to Kisuke's manipulation. It helped that Ishida didn't want Inoue to come into contact with places which reminded her too much of her experience in Seireitei and Hueco Mundo, so between the Quincy and the former captain Ichigo and crew were persuaded to travel to Ishida's house with its really huge garden and wonderful scenery.

Kisuke hummed an old Elvis tune, tapping Benihime against his leg as they finally reached a taxi stand. He could have driven, but since Ichigo had his car at Ishida's Kisuke thought it would be more environmentally-friendly to drive back in one vehicle.

The ride was not that expensive, but Kisuke hated to spend money in any case. Partly because he was a shopkeeper, but also partly because he knew he could devise a better and cheaper way of attaining what he needed. On the other hand, since his income came mostly from stocks and bonds, it really wasn't a problem. A genius-level brain and a long life assisted greatly in investment portfolio-building.

The twins were the one welcoming Kisuke and company at the gate. Ururu followed Karin's mad dash to the back of the house, while Jinta and Yuzu took a more sedate pace. Kisuke wondered if the two were enjoying their puppy-love phase: Yuzu had many suitors, and Ichigo was taking perverse pleasure in inviting Hisagi, Renji and Ikkaku over whenever Yuzu arranged for a meet-the-family session. Only Jinta was unafraid of the big bullies, since he had been there fighting alongside them. Yuzu was a cheerful, pretty little thing, and it was obvious why the boys were drawn to her. As for Karin and Hitsugaya, it was evident that Karin was going to make a hard choice soon.

Ichigo seemed to sense Kisuke's appearance, turning his head to face the blond shopkeeper as soon as Kisuke stepped into the backyard. The bright smile on the usually-serious face of Ichigo warmed Kisuke's heart. As long as he could put that smile on the redheaded youth's face, Kisuke was willing to do anything. Sado waved a hello with the chicken wing he was munching on, while Ururu was asking Ishida if she could take over.

“Urahara-san,” said Inoue quietly. She had never quite forgotten how he had to almost kill her in order for Aizen to release the girl from Hueco Mundo. Kisuke was glad she found a rock in Ishida, and that she had forgiven him for making the tough decision to sacrifice her if the need arose.

Ishida was less forgiving. They did not talk unless they had to – such as the relocation of their barbecue – and he would look at Kisuke with a mixture of scorn and disgust whenever the topic of Hueco Mundo or the war arose.

That didn't matter now, not when Ichigo scooted over to make room for Kisuke to sit beside him on the bench, ignoring the teasing Kon lobbed at him. Ichigo was adorably demonstrative when he was in love, if Kisuke remembered the young man's relationship with Byakuya properly. Stupid noble didn't know how to treasure his find; Kisuke intended to find the young captain, beat him up for having hurt Ichigo in the past, and then thank him for giving Ichigo up for Kisuke to benefit.

“Hey. You made it,” said Ichigo in a low voice. “I was beginning to think you weren't coming.”

Kisuke took the seat, noting the small grin on Sado's face. The Mexican-Japanese gave a discreet thumbs up, and Kon snorted softly when Kisuke grinned thanks.

It was good that these young people were open-minded enough about them being together, thanks in no small part to Ichigo coming out of the closet with Byakuya earlier. Some of Ichigo's friends took longer to accept that their hero was a homosexual, but eventually came around to see that Ichigo's sexuality was separate from Ichigo as a pal. Asano Keigo had reacted the most, claiming that Ichigo had been 'corrupted' by the shinigami and had probably been brainwashed into someone 'unnatural'. The friendship had been strained for a while but some adroit interference from Rukia and Orihime had readjusted matters. They weren't as close as before, but they weren't complete strangers either.

Kisuke put the random musings out of his head when Ichigo began to argue movies with Sado again, this time about the fourth Batman movie. Apparently the director decided to put in the Catwoman, and Sado was vigorously defending his choice of actress through the utterance of more than three sentences. That was not what had absorbed Kisuke though; it was Ichigo's hand that linked casually with his on Kisuke's knee.

The feel of a warm palm pressing against his and the strong fingers fitting so comfortably with his own digits made Kisuke lightheaded. He propped his other elbow on the table, idly nibbling on a barbecued wing and not paying much attention to the young adults chatting around elsewhere.

“Hey, Jinta, could you get us something to drink?” called out Karin. Waving a hand Jinta walked into the house to get beverages and when he dashed out he was red in the face.

Concerned, Kisuke shifted in his seat. Ichigo's fingers flexed and relaxed, the thumb rubbing circles on Kisuke's skin. The blond gripped tighter but focused on Jinta. “What is it?”

“Um. There are drinks, but I can't get close to them.” The flame-haired boy scratched the back of his head.

“Whyever not?” asked Yuzu, looking up from the salad she was sharing with Ururu. Flustered, Jinta gestured vaguely, trying to explain, but was saved from the onerous task when Grimmjow stomped out.

“Kid, next time just knock, okay?” he growled. When the blue-haired ex-Espada took in all the curious looks, he shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothin' traumatizing. Just caught us in a moment.”

“Your 'moment' has gone on for the past, oh, twenty-four minutes,” Ichigo said with a laugh.

Grimmjow half-smiled. “Get bent, Ichigo. Help him out with that, Urahara; the boy probably needs pointers.”

The shopkeeper wasn't about to let that go. “Not up to you to tell, Grimmjow.”

“Ooh, possessive now,” smirked Grimmjow as a slightly-tousled Tatsuki walked out from the back door. The tall man slung an arm around Tatsuki and added, “Don't worry, I have my own.”

“As if,” scoffed Tatsuki, grabbing Grimmjow's wrist and ducking out from his arm, twisting it as she went. Grimmjow grunted and Tatsuki let go with a satisfied smile. “I'm not yours, Grim.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, _Suki_ ,” said Grimmjow and earned a jab to his stomach. The former hollow picked up a meat patty with his fingers and started eating, while Jinta returned to the kitchen for drinks. Kisuke released Ichigo's hand to get more food. The redhead frowned and Kisuke patted Ichigo on the head.

“Hey, no PDA here, alright?” called out Karin. “We're still innocent teens.”

Jinta chortled. “Yeah, and you weren't making out with Hitsugaya on Valentine's Day.”

“Shut up!”

Kisuke grabbed a can of beer from the tray and passed two to Sado. “What is it about you, Jinta, that you keep walking in on people?”

“I haven't walked in on you two yet,” Jinta pointed out, indicating Ichigo and Kisuke both. “But then you guys haven't been snuggly anyway.”

Ichigo cracked open his beer and sipped. “Whether we had or not is not the issue. We just know how to lock doors.”

Jinta nodded. “Point taken.”

Grimmjow shook his head, taking a seat opposite Tatsuki. “Fine. My bad.”

Watching the boys banter, Orihime looked from face to face. “Um... is Kurosaki-kun with Urahara-san now?”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The twins were staying with Tatsuki at Ishida's mansion, Grimmjow was driving Sado home on his motorcycle, Ururu and Jinta were sacked out in the back of Ichigo's car and Kisuke was driving. The shopkeeper had felt a little out of place throughout the evening, while the young men and women ribbed each other on their choice of partners or talked seriously about life after college. He was the observer, since he didn't go through college here on Earth nor did he need to defend himself against choosing Ichigo.

Sado's announcement that he was changing his major to archeology had surprised some of his friends. The tall young man explained that he had gone to Mexico over Spring Break and saw that there was a lot of history that was not being protected or promoted. Plus, Sado had added with wry humor, if he ended up adventuring like Indiana Jones, he had the ability to fight off the monsters.

Ichigo was leaning back in his seat, tapping his fingers on his knees. Neither man spoke but the atmosphere was one of relaxed intimacy. When they pulled in at the shop, Kisuke shook the two teens in the backseat awake.

“Ururu, Jinta, we're home.”

Jinta was reluctant to get up, but Ururu yawned and readily stepped out of the car. Tessai had probably gone to bed already, since it was nearing two in the morning. Jinta stretched and grumbled as he stumbled into the house. When Ichigo made to unbuckle his seat belt, Kisuke stopped him.

“Let's go someplace private,” suggested Kisuke. He leaned out the window and told Jinta to lock up the house.

Ichigo frowned faintly but complied. Kisuke drove away from the house, heading for the river park. Although it was really late, Kisuke was quite alert. He parked near the grove and got out of the car. Ichigo followed, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Where to now?” asked the redhead.

Kisuke smiled and offered one hand. Lifting his brows, Ichigo took it and tucked himself close to Kisuke. They strolled in silence, the chirps of night insects loud in the quiet. Their footfalls were almost in time, Kisuke finally giving up those ridiculous clogs for a pair of comfortable sandals. When they came to a fork in the path Kisuke paused.

“Which way, Ichigo?”

“Left.” That would bring them to a secluded clearing. Kisuke didn't mind; he wanted some privacy with Ichigo anyway. It would be easier to tell Ichigo without the young man's reactions setting off somebody in the house.

They settled on one of the benches available. It was a little damp, but neither was bothered by it. Ichigo settled against Kisuke's side, making a soft happy sound that stirred Kisuke immediately. The blond laid a hand on Ichigo's shoulder and kissed the young man's temple.

“Not that it's romantic and all, but why are we here?” drawled Ichigo.

Kisuke smiled faintly. “I can't do random things?”

“You do things with a purpose, even if the purpose is to shock, embarrass or humiliate the receiver.” Ichigo nuzzled into Kisuke's neck, sending tingles all down the older man's spine. “What's eating you?”

“I'm wondering what we want from this,” answered Kisuke. He trailed his fingers through Ichigo's hair. “I don't know what you want, I'm barely cognizant of what I want – beyond the physical – and I don't know where we're headed. That bothers me.”

“Hmm.”

Kisuke looked at the younger man in his arms. “Hmm? A 'hmm' is all I get?”

The redhead grinned. “Well, I have no idea either – beyond the physical – but the adventure is in finding out, isn't it?”

“What if we find out we're not suitable for each other?” said Kisuke quietly. “You're still young, you can explore first-”

“-and come back to you if I find no one?” finished Ichigo. “No thanks. Unnecessary detours, broken hearts, back to square one: you.”

“I was going to say that you might find someone better than me,” said Kisuke.

Ichigo scoffed. “I know you think this is all on a whim and that one night, Kisuke, but come on. Give me some credit here.” He straightened. “I've known you for six years. You were the one who helped me become a shinigami. You were the one who took us in when our house blew up and dad took over the Third division. You've been watching over us, over me for so long, you're already a part of my life.”

“That makes me a guardian,” said the shopkeeper.

“And a friend,” said Ichigo firmly. “It's a progression of relationship, not a, a sudden awakening that you're an attractive man I want to have sex with.”

“No? So that night wasn't an abrupt realization that I have a hot body and was extremely... what was the word Grimmjow used... screw-worthy?”

Ichigo chuckled and prodded Kisuke's ribs. “Okay, maybe there was a bitty bolt from the blue, but the point is I know you. I know who you are, where you come from, and I want to be with you wherever you're going and whatever you're gonna be.”

“That's sweet,” murmured Kisuke, pecking Ichigo on his lips. “But we're still far too different, you and me. I'm way older, for one thing. I'm also... well I don't want to say immortal, but I'm pretty darn close to it.”

“I can be that too,” argued Ichigo. “I just have to be a shinigami, give up my human body.”

“Do you hate me in some way I don't know about?” inquired Kisuke. Ichigo was baffled. The blond shook his head in amazement. “You father and sisters would kill me in slow, horrible ways if you did something as monumentally _stupid_ as that.”

“Hey!”

Kisuke went on. “And the fact that you have your whole life ahead of you. Remember? You were talking with your friends earlier. Keigo-kun as a talent manager. Sado-kun with archeology. Tatsuki and Grimmjow with a dojo-cum-restaurant. You said you wanted to be a teacher.” Kisuke inhaled deeply. “You're still growing, changing. You are living. I'm not. I'm just existing, day to day.”

“Then live with me,” said Ichigo. He took the hat from Kisuke's head and pushed blond bangs aside. “We can do this. I-I don't know how, I just... Look, being the same doesn't mean automatic happiness. Being different doesn't mean automatic happiness. Grimmjow and Tatsuki – could you even imagine them getting together two years ago? Or Inoue and Ishida, three years ago? Kira and Ikkaku? Aizen and Ichimaru? Nothing guarantees that I'm making the right choice or the wrong choice. I just go ahead and make them anyway. Stop thinking that this-this thing we have is about you alone. It isn't. It's about me too.” Ichigo paused for breath. “I have a-a right to want what we have to go on. I don't what I want, but thus far I'm liking the ride. What about you?”

Kisuke bit his upper lip. Then he grinned crookedly. “I'll tell you tomorrow.”

The younger man pressed his lips against Kisuke's and they melted into a gentle kiss. “Let's go home,” whispered Ichigo. “Your bedroom.”

“Nothing else though,” warned Kisuke. “I've yet to soundproof it.”

“I wasn't going to try anything, gutterbrain,” teased Ichigo. “Too exhausted to, anyway. Home sounds good.”

As they reached the parked car, Ichigo placed his hand over Kisuke's. “Tell me when you have an answer, hmm?”

“I will,” said Kisuke.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Three weekends later, Tessai and Kisuke told a whole crowd to turn up at his basement for the great unveiling. Ichigo was curious: the blond man had squirreled himself away for almost the entire month. Chad would be flying off soon, Grimmjow with him, to visit the vizards out in Tuscany. The crew had spent almost all their free time together just catching up and having fun, with the teenagers sometimes joining them, and they stayed in Seireitei for a weekend which ended with Grimmjow and Renji almost arrested by Hitsugaya for excessive brawling.

Tatsuki was there with Karin; Yuzu had a meeting with some of her friends for karaoke. Ichigo, Chad, Ishida and Kon were there too, along with Ururu and Jinta. Tessai appeared so proud he might actually be floating.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grand opening of... the Tunnel!” announced Kisuke brightly.

That did not get the response he was hoping for. Everyone other than Tessai were bemused. Tatsuki raised a hand. “What is the tunnel?”

Tessai cleared his throat. “You have to say it slower. Like... the Tunnel.”

“...the Tunnel,” echoed Tatsuki.

“I didn't say what it was?” Kisuke asked out of the corner of his mouth. Tessai shook his head. Kisuke coughed. “The Tunnel, built with technology yet to be seen in human society, links us to another property. Some of you might know that Aizen and Ichimaru had left their house – a very, very large house, with many rooms – under Ichigo's name-”

Ichigo looked surprised. He did not know.

“-and I have decided to link our houses together with a straight line. Thus was born... the Tunnel.”

Karin chuckled. “You could have picked a better name.”

“Well, I was going with Wormhole until Tessai reminded me it was a lot larger than a worm. Plus, we have automated scooters. Just take out the solar panels for twelve hours' powering up and they'll take us to and fro for a week's nonstop running.”

“Frikkin' hellfire,” said Jinta. “That is awesome! Does that mean we can all sleep in that large house now, with individual rooms?”

“Ichigo?” asked Kisuke. “It's your place.”

The young redhead grinned. “Of course. We'll go over later and stake out your rooms, how about that?”

“Why not go now?” chirruped Karin. She grabbed one scooter and hopped over it. “Last one there is a Menos Grande!”

Ichigo didn't join the frenzied rush to grab a scooter. He strolled up to Kisuke. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I don't know. Just thanks in general, I guess.” Ichigo smiled. “But I'm staying here with you.”

Kisuke frowned though his lips were still curved. “How did you guess?”

Ichigo chuckled. “This place is your baby, with the labs and the basement... I'll move in here, they can move in there. It's all good. And we'll have some privacy.”

“Now why on earth would we need privacy?” asked Kisuke with an innocent air.

Ichigo growled in his throat and snaked an arm about the older man's head. Before Kisuke could come up with any pithy remark, Ichigo locked his mouth over Kisuke's.

In all honesty Kisuke had way more experience than Ichigo when it came to kissing. The first was of course Yoruichi, seeing that they knew each other even before Kisuke was enrolled in the Academy. Then there had been Aizen whose genius lay not just in the realm of psychology and the shinigami arts. Both were great lovers, and Kisuke prided himself being able to match their skill.

But only Ichigo had kissed him with such abandoned passion, flooding Kisuke's senses with everything the young man had: it was as if Ichigo had let go of time and space and sanity, drowning himself with the presence of the older man. Kisuke felt himself responding to the clear desire that burned in him, his tongue searching and his mouth drinking in Kurosaki Ichigo, shinigami substitute.

Strong fingers twined into Kisuke's thick hair and tugged, the sharp flare of pain heightening the pleasure of Ichigo's taste in his mouth. They pulled apart for some air, both panting heavily. Kisuke blinked at Ichigo, unaware that his askew hat had cast an uneven shadow over his face. Ichigo grinned, looking almost feral.

“Why do we need privacy?” he echoed teasingly. “Unless you want Jinta to walk in on us while we engage in acts of extreme intimacy, like the exhibitionist you are-”

“-I am no exhibitionist-”

“-then stop playing coy, stop acting dumb, and stop looking for problems that might not even arise,” Ichigo stated firmly. “I'm yours, one way or another. Get used to the fact.”

Kisuke narrowed his eyes and readjusted his hat. Eventually he smiled. “Sure thing, bossy.”

Ichigo smirked. “Don't _make_ me command you.”

The blond grabbed Benihime from the rock she was leaning against. “Oh I don't know... I might just let you order me around, give me instructions... could be fun.”

 


	13. 13.

“The doors are locked?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Sounds of soft kisses and gentle murmurs punctuated the dim interior of the room.

“The kitchen lights-”

“We turned them off already.”

Rustling of fabric and thumps of clothes being tossed to the floor.

“The TV?”

Ichigo clicked the bedside lamp on. He was irritated. “Do you want to or not, Kisuke? If you don't, I'll just put on my clothes and sleep in my old room.”

“Ahahaha... I'm sorry. It's just... this house has seldom been so silent.” The blond shopkeeper grinned sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his head, staring at the side of the bed. Though both of them had undressed, it felt like Kisuke was the only naked person the way the older man played with the sheets with his clever fingers. Ichigo huffed with annoyance, kind of distracted by the sheen of soft orange light over his lover's body. So very different from Byakuya's grace and confidence, but still powerful and delectable... The redhead sat forward and pecked Kisuke on his cheek, which was stubbly once more.

“Seriously. If you don't feel up to it, we can make love another day,” said Ichigo, nibbling at Kisuke's chin. “After all, this lithe, sexy, tight, hot body is all yours for the taking...”

The blond groaned when he heard the young man's words. “Ichigo, if your fifteen-year-old self heard the words you are spouting right now...”

“He'll probably blush and hide under the covers and wait for you to seduce him,” finished Ichigo. He then licked his index finger slowly, making sure to lock eyes with Kisuke while he sucked on the digit. When he removed his finger from his mouth with a wet pop, Ichigo leaned in closer and purred, “And then you would take your finger and run it up fifteen-year-old-Ichigo's body from his navel” cue finger on Kisuke's belly “and up to his nipple” index finger now trailing lazy circles around Kisuke's left nipple “before you pinch it to give him an erotic shock. And he'll whimper and protest and you would be _aching_ to make him beg...”

“Alright, who are you and when did you possess Kurosaki Ichigo?” demanded Kisuke breathlessly. His pale face was flushed even in the lamplight, and his gray eyes hooded with desire. His heart was racing wildly. Kisuke never thought he'd live to see the day, but the youth's aggressiveness was an incredible turn on.

Ichigo grinned crookedly and dragged the blond man in for a deep kiss, before demanding harshly against soft lips, “Now forget about everything else and feel. One more mention of something that's not related to how good it is to touch me, and I'm throwing you out of this room.”

“Mm, sounds good...” muttered Kisuke, giving in to the younger man's seduction. His large hands skated over smooth skin, up a muscled back and kneading strong shoulders. Ichigo moaned as one of the hands wove fingers into his short hair, nails scraping over his sensitized scalp.

The lay down again, side by side, and Ichigo nudged his lover around so he could rain tender kisses all along the straight line of Kisuke's spine while seeking out sensitive spots on that pale body. As his tongue slid down the line between Kisuke's shoulder blades the older man squirmed. Ichigo grinned to himself and nibbled at the spot, his hands reaching around to tweak hardened nipples and caress a flat abdomen, tracing imagined lines with short fingernails.

Kisuke moaned deeply, and his own palm slid up and down Ichigo's bare thigh. When Ichigo's caresses snaked lower Kisuke arched back, exposing his neck for Ichigo to mark.

“Gods, Kisuke,” muttered the orange-haired youth as he sucked and licked the curve of Kisuke's neck and shoulder, “you taste so good... can I... taste you more fully?”

“Mrrrrow!”

“Gyyynneeaaahh!” “Wha- how th- Yuki!”

Both men almost rolled off the mattress as they straightened with shock. The black feline had leaped up the foot of the bed and was prowling across the covers, before circling and kneading the blanket into his own nest. Which was conveniently located between the two lovers.

Ichigo narrowed his brown eyes. First the cat came and went as he pleased, now this. Resolutely he picked up the furry animal and, despite its mewling protests and the trail of blankets still caught in its claws, deposited it outside the bedroom. He bent to untangle Yuki's claws from the blankets, knowing that they would need it later.

Another cat padded up and peered curiously into the bedroom where Kisuke was still sitting in bed.

“No, Yuki,” said Ichigo, not glancing up from his task, “you are not going in the bedroom while... wait a minute.”

There was one cat he was removing the blankets from. There was one cat staring at him with large green eyes, head tilted. Ichigo looked from one to the other, then back again. “How... huh?”

“Damn,” said the one which had its nails caught in the sheets. She shrugged in resignation. “And here I thought I could catch free porn.”

“GYAAHHK!”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ichigo's face was as red as Renji's hair as he drank beer from the bottle. Yoruichi was still laughing loudly as Kisuke tried to placate his lover. Ichigo's shoulders were slumped and the bottle appeared about to crack.

“Yoruichi, come and apologize!” hissed Kisuke when Ichigo turned to face the wall.

“Not my fault he can't tell a real cat from me,” drawled Yoruichi. She stretched out and rested against the wall. “Sorry 'bout interrupting, Strawberry.”

The bottle cracked. Ichigo threw it into the wastebasket and got up. “I'm going out. Chad and the idiot cat fly off tomorrow. I'll be at Chad's place.”

Kisuke made to rise as well. “Ichigo-”

“Bye.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ichigo kicked the door of his car shut and stomped up the stairs to Chad's apartment. Knocking on the door, Ichigo mulled over ten thousand ways to slowly and painfully kill the moron Yoruichi. After finally settling everyone out of the damned house, finally getting some private time to themselves, and they had to be interrupted by Yoruichi. Yoruichi, Kisuke's past on-off lover.

_Grrr._

_:King, did you just growl? Cuteness.:_

_Piss off, hollow._

_:My, my. So very fierce.:_

The door opened and Ichigo stormed inside after a perfunctory “hello”. Grimmjow was on the sofa, his long legs sprawled all over while he watched an insipid drama about a public hospital, a handy box of tissues nearby.

“Shinigami, what a surprise,” said Grimmjow. “I thought you had a romantic evening planned?”

Chad smiled faintly as he plucked a few guitar strings before strumming a chord. It provided a soothing background music to the drama playing out on screen – no wonder Grimmjow needed tissue. Ichigo, however, was not in the mood to share.

He squeezed in next to the ex-hollow. “I hate cats.”

“Hey.” Grimmjow nudged a protest against the young redhead's ribs.

Even in his snit, Ichigo realized he didn't want to get creamed and pureed by huge claws, and hastily backpedaled. “I hate black cats.”

Grimmjow was slightly mollified. Chad's guitar picked out a soft melody, mostly in the minor key. Ichigo folded up on the couch and glared at the light-haired male lead who, in his opinion, resembled Kisuke too fucking much. He was proclaiming his love for the equally pathetic female lead, who had to choose between him, the older, responsible and introverted man, and his younger brother who was a stereotypically rash and passionate hothead. The dark-haired woman was trying to look torn and confused, but she was coming across as smug.

_Grrrrrrrr._

Noting the death rays shooting out from Ichigo's eyes, Grimmjow turned off the show. “You look like me on a bad hair day,” he remarked. “Spill your guts, shinigami. I wanna have a good laugh.”

“Shut up,” snarled Ichigo. Chad strummed a lighter tune that modulated into a series of plaintive chords. Ichigo sighed. “Okay, fine. I'll talk.” He launched into an abbreviated account of the events thus far, and finished off with a list of invectives for the cat/woman/shinigami.

Grimmjow laughed so hard he fell off the sofa. Ichigo stamped on him a few times until the brawnier guy climbed back on. “So... heh heh, so you _really_ thought Yoruichi was Yuki? And you were naked? She saw?” Grimmjow dashed tears from his eyes. “You were this” putting his thumb and index fingers together “close to putting on live-action porn for her?”

“Yes, yes, yes and yes,” said Ichigo, blushing again. He thwacked Grimmjow with a seat cushion when the blue-haired man kept chortling. “It's not _that_ funny! Stop laughing, moron!”

“No? Even Sado is grinning! He's even showing his teeth!”

“Chad?” Ichigo threw up his hands when his best friend shrugged helplessly. “Fine. Fine, I'm surrounded by unsympathetic idiots. I am _so_ glad my interrupted night for romance is fodder for laughter for all of you. It really makes life worth living.”

Grimmjow kicked Ichigo on his hip. “Romance? You were just gonna fuck!” He picked himself off the floor. “But seriously, if you feel so strongly about it, go back and kick her outta the house. It's yours now, innit? Not like you don't have the strength to do so, eh?”

When Ichigo glanced at Chad, the brawny Mexican-Japanese merely nodded twice and gave him a thumbs-up. The redhead mulled over the idea, then sprinted out of the apartment. The flight of steps appeared too long for some reason and Ichigo cursed. He wished he could bankai as a human and flash-step back to their house ('their' being Kisuke and Ichigo, the redhead added vehemently), kick that bloody complacent cat-shinigami hybrid out and then-

_:Get back to your 'romantic evening' of licking, sucking, screaming and begging?:_

_STAY OUT OF MY INTERNAL MONOLOGUES!_

_:Like I could. Oh, you didn't know? When you have extremely vivid mental imagery or visual stimuli, I get to see too. And you have some very strange preferences of positions, I must say.:_

_No, you don't HAVE to say it! Shaddup!_

Ichigo cursed again the fates that meant he had been loaded with a personal enemy who could read his thoughts – not all his thoughts, but the stronger ones. If the stupid hollow did not amp up his power, Ichigo would have asked Kisuke to exorcise his ghost a long time ago.

 _Hey, hollow._ Ichigo nudged his inner hollow. _You think you can lend a hand in kicking that catwoman's butt out of the house?_

 _:Totally. Hmm... nice change for you to ask for my_ help.: There was a very long pause. _:It's not the end of the world, is it?:_

_No it's not! I can't be nice to you even a little bit, can I?_

The hollow chuckled. _:Growl at him later. See how he takes it, hmm?:_

 _Sounds-_ Ichigo opened the door to his car and then shut it quickly, easily decapitating a minor hollow. There was a large shadow looming overhead, while tiny flitting hollows circled the huge one. Another hybridized hollow that escaped Halibel's prison. Ichigo grabbed the badge and forced himself out of his body, while Chad and Grimmjow landed with neat thuds beside him, having leaped out of their apartment's window. The ex-Espada was grinning madly, the hint of delight in complete massacre re-emerging. Chad cricked his neck and fired up both arms, his powers working even with the false limb engineered by Kisuke after the original was incinerated by Aizen.

“Such a thoughtful bon voyage gift,” sneered Grimmjow. Ichigo tossed his physical body in the car and swung Zangetsu forward. The arrancar scratched the nape of his neck. “Chad, the huge one? Ichigo and I will take down the flutterbys.” Chad nodded assent.

Without wasting more time, they got to work.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Kisuke's shoulders sagged while Yoruichi rifled through the drawers, looking for her studded collar. Then she came across a box and opened it. The item inside was unfamiliar at first but Yoruichi suddenly realized what it was.

“Oh my god,” she laughed, half-astonished. “You actually have this? Have you used it? Did Ichigo like it?”

“Yoruichi, I appreciate our close friendship and all, but stop asking me about Ichigo,” said Kisuke. He propped his head on one hand. “He's gonna give me hell when he comes home after all your interference.”

“Eh? I was merely giving you a great excuse not to get to the point,” said Yoruichi. “I heard all your hemming and hawing about lights and TV and all that crap. Sounded like you didn't want to have sex with him.”

Kisuke flopped onto the tatami floor. Yoruichi bent over him and smirked. “I'm right... as usual. So, what gives?”

“I don't know,” admitted Kisuke. “He's gorgeous, and beautiful, and willing. But he's so...”

“Dumb?”

“No.”

“Fragile?”

“No.”

“Horrible in bed?”

“NO! He's absolutely great, full of enthusiasm and energy and... why the hell am I sharing that with you?” Kisuke sat up. “Yoruichi, find the damned collar and leave.”

“Y'know, why can't you share it with me?” inquired the woman blithely. “Not like we haven't been intimate ourselves.”

“Because! Because... because it's private,” said Kisuke, somewhat aware of the lameness of the statement.

Yoruichi snorted. “You used to tell me in excruciating detail the things you and Sousuke did with – and to – each other. Why not the stuff with Ichigo?”

“Because...” He hated that word, that useless, weak, pathetic word that conveyed his confusion and reluctance. Yoruichi seemed to sense his inner thoughts and smiled crookedly. Kisuke slumped again. “Because he's not Sousuke. He's sensitive and sweet and strong – obviously, but even the feel of... what we have... it's different.”

Yoruchi propped her chin in her hands and peered at her old comrade. Then she beamed brightly. “It's good then, Kisuke. I'm happy for you.”

“Eh?”

“I heard from Isshin that you were dating Ichigo,” said Yoruichi, rolling over to rest on her back, her long black hair puddled behind her head. “I was worried that you were rebounding from loss. After all, Sousuke had just passed away a month ago.”

“Sou and I hadn't been together for decades by then,” Kisuke ventured.

“But you still loved him, didn't you?” Her golden gaze cut to the quick. “He was the only one who was more than a match for you. Even when we were together, you were always talking about him. I'm not that clued in on emotions, Kisuke, but you did think of him as yours.”

Kisuke tried to smile. His friend reached a hand to his cheek. “Sousuke found himself someone else. Judging from what Soi told me about that day in the auditorium, I think he was happy with the Ichimaru brat. If they hadn't decided to betray Soul Society and try to take over the world, I'd be among the first to fight for them being together. So stop beating yourself up over losing him and be happy too.”

“Heh.” Kisuke shook his head. “That's what Ichigo told me, only in less words and with a lot more annoyance.”

Yoruichi stretched and transformed into a cat again. “That's good. There's someone who can see right through your brilliant-scientist bullshit and call you on your emotional immaturity. Now I can leave you in his hands.”

“You say it like you're my mum,” protested the blond.

“I was your captain after all,” retorted the cat. “Open the gate. Soi is waiting for me.”

Before Yoruichi could leave, Kisuke said, “Um, Yoruichi. There's something I need your opinion on.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The orange-haired undergraduate slammed the car door shut. The only light on was Kisuke's bedroom light, Ichigo realized. His BEDROOM light.

_Fuck, I should have come home sooner. Stupid hollows!_

Ichigo fumbled with his keys at the door, wanting no more than to break it down and charge up the stairs into his lover's arms. Somehow he was terrified as well, his heart pounding madly at the sight he was certain he would see. They had a history, after all. Kisuke was someone who valued his past associates; just witness how he pined after Aizen. Although that should be over by now; Kisuke hadn't mentioned that traitor even once the past month...

_And if that demon cat is around I'm gonna skin her and turn her into a fur cap._

He made it up the stairs quietly and slid the door to the bedroom open.

“Ichigo!” Kisuke scrambled to his feet and rushed to the door, hugging the younger man tightly. “I didn't think you were returning home tonight!”

“Eh?” A demonstrative Kisuke was an unusual one. Ichigo grabbed the older blond's shoulders and shoved him back. “Did you do something wrong?” Then warm brown eyes widened and ichigo prodded Kisuke's nose. “Did you do something wrong with _her_?”

“Whaaaaat? I can't be affectionate towards my strawberry without being suspected?” Kisuke pouted. “It's unfair!”

“Damn right it's unfair!” Ichigo looked around the room and located no sign of a cat, Yuki or Yoruichi. Then he grabbed his lover around the waist. “It's unfair that you didn't even try to stop me going off while _she_ lounged about naked!”

“What? No! I didn't even notice I swear! She's never wearing clothes around the house anyway and, I've seen it so often, I mean, it's uh, I didn't-” A flustered Kisuke was very tempting and completely irresistible, Ichigo realized with a wry grin. As Kisuke tried to explain with fumbling words, Ichigo pressed closer and shut his mouth up with his lips.

“Punishment,” said Ichigo wickedly.

“Not fair to punish me alone now, is it? You were the one who ran out.” Kisuke, seeing that Ichigo had regained his good humor, recovered his confidence and teasing tone. Skilled fingers dipped below Ichigo's waistband and wiggled against his hipbone. “I suggest a competition. Loser gets punished.”

Ichigo was busy licking at Kisuke's throat and mumbled an affirmative. Withdrawing briefly he asked, “What kind of competition?”

“Whoever comes first,” whispered Kisuke in the young man's ear, “has to fulfill one of the winner's fantasies. _Any_ fantasy.”

Ichigo licked Kisuke's ear and nibbled on it, his hands already well up the blond's shirt. “Not any fantasy: it must be limited to us two only.”

“Eh?”

“Or I won't play.”

Kisuke sighed. “Fine. A fantasy just between us, hmm?”

Ichigo bit coyly on Kisuke's ear, flicking a tongue into the sensitive shell. The warm breath from the older man washed over his shoulder and those evil hands were groping his ass lewdly. In retaliation, Ichigo's fingers sought out that spot on Kisuke's back that he found earlier and pinched it, eliciting a startled gasp.

“Start us off,” urged Ichigo.

“Ready, set, go,” murmured Kisuke, and flipped the laughing Ichigo over onto the futon.

 


	14. 14.

“I'm home,” called out Ichigo, pulling off his shoes at the foyer and placing them in the proper shelf. More than once in the first two years he had had to face a disappointed Ururu about his tendency to kick off his footwear, and he eventually learned to put his things away properly. Not seeing his older lover, Ichigo strolled around to the kitchen.

Kisuke peered out from the back of the house. “Hey.” He emerged, wiping his hands on the apron he was wearing. “How was school?”

“Big building, many rooms occasionally filled with people, full of furniture,” answered Ichigo smartly. He leaned forward and kissed his lover, his arms looping over the blond's shoulders.

Kisuke embraced the younger man for a moment before smacking him on the bottom. “Smartass.”

“Cute ass,” retorted Ichigo, hands slipping down to grope Kisuke. The older man let out an undignified squeak when the younger man's fingers began to be a little too adventurous and shoved himself from Ichigo's grasp. The redhead pouted. “Aw, come on Kisuke.”

“Go wash up,” ordered Kisuke, thrown by the uncharacteristic and totally adorable pout. So very delectable!

Ichigo's smirk grew wicked. “Don't wanna.”

Kisuke tried to be firm. “Ichigo...”

“Kisuke...” imitated Ichigo. He prowled forward and pinned Urahara to the wall, his right hand slipping under the apron. Smiling shyly he leaned in and muttered, “Am I doing this right?”

The older man grinned and nodded fractionally, whispering, “Very well. Keep going.”

Ichigo's right hand reached behind and played with the knot, but kept his lover pinioned. The pressure of his strong fingers on Kisuke's lower back was unbearable; Kisuke shivered but stayed still regardless. Ichigo's mouth was hovering over the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his heated breath washing over pale skin but resolutely refusing to make contact. “I'd hate to imply that you enjoy being tied to my apron strings,” drawled Kisuke.

“Can't help that. I love how you look in an apron,” breathed Ichigo, pressing his thigh between Kisuke's legs. A half-choke, half-gasp was Kisuke's response. Ichigo licked delicately along the collarbone and up the arched neck, finding its destination in Kisuke's mouth. Greedily exploring an already-familiar territory, Ichigo let go of Kisuke's wrists and skated both hands along Kisuke's sides and over his chest. The older male moaned and submitted further, one knee curling up around Ichigo, and his arms wrapped about the youth. Ichigo nibbled at Kisuke's lower lip and then slid to his ear. “I love how you look in only an apron.”

“Pervert,” gasped Kisuke when Ichigo's hot tongue traced the contours of his ear.

“Pot, kettle.”

Kisuke's fingers fumbled with Ichigo's shirt, ripping a couple of buttons loose, and then managed to unclasp the belt. Palming Ichigo's still-covered erection and then tugging the pants open, Kisuke was gratified to have his young lover break into a stream of curses.

The shirt was soon discarded and the pants kicked off. Kisuke followed Ichigo obediently into the nearest room, which happened to be the kitchen. On the stove a pot was simmering, so Ichigo steered Kisuke to the dining table instead. “We have to watch the pot?” he asked.

“Not really, it's a double-boiled recipe,” murmured the blond. The orange-haired youth certainly had just the right measure of innocence and seduction, mused Kisuke, as they resumed kissing. This was nice, not having to worry about being interrupted by the kids, Ichigo's sisters or Tessai. It was especially nice have Ichigo over him, their hips thrusting against each other at an increased pace.

Ichigo broke into Kisuke's hazy thoughts. “Are you certain this table can handle... handle us?”

“Hardwood,” replied Kisuke thickly. His large hands slid down and pulled Ichigo closer to himself and both men groaned. “Sturdy and custom-made.”

Ichigo reached for the oil on the counter nearby and slicked his fingers. Carefully lifting Kisuke's leg up and propping the knee against himself, Ichigo kissed the older man gently as one finger circled the opening.

“May I?” he whispered hesitantly.

“Yes.” Kisuke's eyes fluttered open and locked gazes with the young man. He shut his eyes again when Ichigo began to explore him, the sensation tingling over his nerves. It had been a very long time, long enough for his body to forget what it felt like to be breached and claimed. Ichigo didn't know this, of course: there was no need to pressure the redhead further. The older ex-shinigami relaxed his body muscle by muscle, trusting his lover to do his best, and Ichigo did not disappoint.

Ichigo could feel his control slipping. The tight heat was drawing his fingers in, eager and hungry, and the youth pushed the apron aside to take the tip of Kisuke's erection into his mouth, sucking gently.

“Can't we just take this off?” complained Kisuke breathily, pulling at the green-and-white striped apron.

Ichigo nibbled at the sensitive head with his lips, tongue flicking over the slit. “No,” he said.

Kisuke arched lightly from the table, his other leg curling Ichigo closer. The young man's fingers pressed in deeper and Ichigo took the entire length of Kisuke's arousal into his mouth. After licking and sucking for a few moments, Ichigo made some sounds while his lips added wet pressure to the seeping tip. Kisuke made out some grunts, but chuckled. “Don't talk with your mouth full, Ichigo.”

Ichigo pulled away and pressed his mouth to Kisuke's thigh before muttering thickly, “I can't hold out longer.”

“Then don't,” panted Kisuke. His elbows braced against the table, he waited for Ichigo to crawl over him and the young man's heated arousal made him shudder. “I want you now, Ichigo.”

The young man didn't reply but slipped his hands under Kisuke's thighs, slipping a little with the sweat. Impatiently he pushed the apron up further and pulled Kisuke closer to himself. After some shuffling and realignment, Ichigo thrust into Kisuke slowly.

“Oh my god,” gritted out Ichigo, his senses nearly overloaded by the sensations elicited with the heat and tightness of his lover's body. “How... how is it possible to-to take this?”

Kisuke wasn't faring much better, head thrown back and his breaths coming in short, harsh gasps. It had been too long. The feel of Ichigo in him, filling him up, the warmth of his body, the slickness of skin, short nails digging into him and marking him lightly... Kisuke choked out a cry when Ichigo shifted experimentally. It _hurt,_ almost.

Ichigo was clutching the older man desperately. “Kisuke, I have to... I have to move, I can't...”

“I know,” mumbled Kisuke against orange hair. The scents of sweat and sex and Ichigo's signature and the simmering pot with double-boiled herbs melded into a heady concoction.

The initial movements were hesitant and uncertain, but built into a steady and confident rhythm (egged on by hushed encouragement from Kisuke). The tension coiled low and tight, and the only sounds that registered were short breaths and the creaking of the dining table, matched with the wet slaps of sweaty bodies. Their movements became more forceful, eliciting grunts and moans of pleasure.

The blond came, shouting his lover's name and sending Ichigo over the edge as well.

“You have the oddest fantasies,” muttered Ichigo, cheeks still pink with exertion and embarrassment. He fished around the floor for his wristband and picked it up with his toes. “You know I don't feel comfortable topping.”

“For someone saying that, you sure showed a lot of enthusiasm,” responded Kisuke. He could feel a twinge in his lower back already. Nudging Ichigo with one foot, he told the younger man to shut off the stove.

Ichigo grabbed a toweling robe from the bathroom outside and tossed it at the disheveled Kisuke. “Your fantasy, your clean-up.”

“Just because you lost the bet...”

“You're still wearing the apron,” zinged Ichigo with a quick grin. “I'm gonna take a long, hot shower.”

Kisuke's gray eyes narrowed with understanding mischief. Ignoring the ache in his behind, he slid off the table, grabbed a tea-towel and cleaned the surface as best as he could before he dug out the disinfectant.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The phone – not the land line, the other one – jangled loudly and Kisuke swore softly under his breath. It had better be worth it to have to leave the warm cocoon of blankets and Ichigo's embrace to go answer a call from Seireitei's top administrators.

“Urahara Shoten.” If he sounded rude he wasn't sorry. Ichigo's hugging and snuggling was priceless and irreplaceable, and if this was only a social call he would bankai nineteen hells out of the caller.

“ _Urahara-san, this is the soutaichou's office. We will connect you now._ ” The clean, crisp voice was replaced with some soothing music, but barely a beat later the low tones of Ukitake Jyuushiro, captain-general of Seireitei spoke.

“ _Kisuke, I am sending someone over to the human realm. Please attend to the guest._ ”

“Who's coming, Jyuu?”

There was a pregnant pause. “ _Kisuke, do try to rein in your temper and also keep up Kurosaki-san's spirits._ ”

Kisuke rolled his eyes. “You are sending Kuchiki Byakuya?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“This has better be good.”

“ _He has the details and will go over it with both of you._ ” Ukitake sounded a little apologetic. “ _I, of course, would hope for a favorable return._ ”

Without warning a pair of toned, tanned arms slid about his waist and a nose nuzzled into his neck. Ichigo was always hungry for contact just after waking up, before his usual shell was fixed about him. Kisuke had been so surprised the first time when Ichigo cuddled into him in the morning, that the blond had thought Ichigo was going to attack him.

“How long is he staying?”

“ _A few days._ ” Ukitake coughed shortly. “ _I hope there won't be trouble, Kisuke._ ”

“Jyuu-chan, who am I to get into trouble?”

“ _... ... maybe I should go along also-_ ”

“Hey!”

Ukitake laughed on the other end of the line. “ _He'll be there at around three in the afternoon, your time_.”

“Goodbye, Jyuushiro.”

“ _Goodbye._ ”

Kisuke breathed out heavily. Then he patted the arms about his waist. “How come you're up?”

“I got cold and lonely inside,” said Ichigo as he nibbled at Kisuke's earlobe, sending jolts of pleasure dancing down Kisuke's spine. The redhead murmured, “We're gonna have a guest?”

“Yeah.” Kisuke figured it was better to tell him now than later. “Kuchiki-taichou is going to be here for a few days.” Behind him his younger lover stiffened. Slowly turning around, Kisuke cupped Ichigo's cheeks and tilted his face up. “You okay?”

“I... think so,” said Ichigo with a shaky chuckle. He licked his lower lip and bit on it. “Of all the names I was thinking of, that wasn't one of them.”

Kisuke pressed soft kisses all over Ichigo's face until Ichigo was humming with satisfaction. The former captain brushed his hand over orange hair and smiled widely. “If you don't feel comfortable with this, I can get him to stay at the other house.”

“With the bunch of kids? Kill him and make it quick.” The redhead hugged Kisuke. “I'll be fine. I just need to be prepared to see him, that's all.”

“You haven't? But the week in Seireitei...”

“I avoided him and he avoided me,” answered Ichigo. “I've never used my reiatsu detecting skills as much as that.”

The two stood there in an embrace for a few minutes before returning to their bed. It was still only four in the morning, and the floor was cold.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Kuchiki Byakuya arrived on the dot. The senkaimon closed rapidly and Kisuke tipped his hat. “Welcome.”

“Good afternoon, Urahara,” said Byakuya. Then his eyes flicked to the person behind Kisuke. They gazes met, amber and gray, and Myakuya nodded. “Good afternoon, Kurosaki-san.”

The almost-undetectable twinge below Ichigo's eye was not lost on Kisuke. The blond smiled widely. “Now, now, it's not like you don't know each other. Why the formal names? Na, Byakuya-kun – don't glare at me, I am older than you and a captain before you – we'll talk shop after an afternoon out on the town, as we need to purchase supplies.” He cast an appraising eye over the captain. “After we put you into your gigai.”

“I don't like gigai,” began Byakuya, but Kisuke waved the objection aside and told him about the special one sent from Seireitei.

Ichigo trailed behind, glad that Kisuke defused the awkwardness somewhat. Byakuya was still fair and regal, his every movement poised and in control. Now that they were walking together, Ichigo could sort of see a trace of similarity between his ex-lover and his current love. Both powerful men able to hold their own against – even dominate – him; both intelligent; both far more experienced and wiser than Ichigo was; both brilliant in their chosen arena. But where Byakuya's brilliance was a diamond's hard and unyielding glitter, Kisuke's was a flame that cast warmth.

The three men did not talk as they got in the car. Ichigo drove; he had no wish to participate in an uncomfortable silence. By driving he could focus on the road and the other vehicles instead of pretending to look out the window and not at Byakuya.

In all honesty, Byakuya was still the more handsome out of the two. Kisuke's difficult life showed in faint lines about his mouth and eyes, faint enough not to mar his attractiveness but nonetheless adding hints of world-weariness to his features. Byakuya, being the heir to the Kuchiki noble house, had had much less hardship than Kisuke. The gray eyes were dark with thought, Ichigo noticed as he glanced in the rear view mirror.

 _Gray eyes?_ Kisuke's eyes were gray-green. Ichigo stopped at the red light, aware but not acknowledging Byakuya's stony countenance nor Kisuke's ebbing enthusiasm. He stole another glimpse of Byakuya in the rear view mirror and flushed when he met the same gaze he fell in love with years ago.

Horns blaring behind jerked Ichigo back to the present. He sped ahead and parked behind the supermarket. “Do you want to come with us?” he asked Byakuya, not looking at him.

 _He had never been in a supermarket before_ , Ichigo was reminded by his snickering hollow. The ebony-haired captain stepped out of the car, looking as though he had just stepped out of a private limousine instead of a crappy beat-up secondhand car. Kisuke and Ichigo shared a look. That was probably a yes.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Byakuya was intensely interested in everything, despite not showing any expression beyond a focus in his gaze. Every now and then he would pick up an item, examine it, and put it back.

“Tomato puree?” asked Kisuke. Without waiting for Ichigo's comment, he tossed the item into the trolley.

Knowing that Kisuke saw how he was staring at Byakuya, Ichigo quickly consulted the shopping list. “Um, sausages, onions and... parmesan cheese.” He looked up and whispered, “Kisuke, you really think we should try to make pizza today? I mean, B-Byakuya doesn't really eat non-Japanese food, and... and um...”

“Ichigo,” said Kisuke quietly, “what do you really want me to do? Treat him as a guest or treat him as your former boyfriend?”

“I-it's not like that!” Ichigo could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

Kisuke pressed his hat lower. “No? Because right now, I feel like the third party. It shouldn't matter, but it does, and I can't carry the act by myself.”

Ichigo leaned his forehead against Kisuke's shoulder. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just... it's a habit to cater to his tastes, that's all.” He peered up to see a grinning Kisuke with amused eyes. “And you were just pretending!”

“Ow,” smirked Kisuke when Ichigo punched him lightly on the bicep. “Look, the stuff we buy is for the week. We'll prepare the usual home-cooked dishes for him.”

The young man nodded and pushed the trolley after the blond, leaving Byakuya to trail after them.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was strangely uneasy to be seated together at the kitchen table. The same kitchen table where, only an evening ago, Ichigo had participated in fulfilling one of Kisuke's fantasies. Ichigo's cheeks turned crimson and when he scratched his nose he caught Kisuke's knowing smirk. The redhead kicked Kisuke under the table.

Byakuya ate neatly and silently. “It was a good meal,” he said at the end. “Thank you very much.”

“You're welcome,” answered Kisuke. “Would you like some ice-cream?”

“That wouldn't be necessary,” stated Byakuya. He turned to face Ichigo. “If you don't mind, I wish to speak with Urahara-san privately.”

Ichigo rose clumsily. “Uh, I'll be in the den watching TV.”

Byakuya bowed slightly. “Thank you.”

After the youth had exited and shut the door behind him, Kisuke stacked the empty dishes in the sink. He then said, “Why are you here, Kuchiki-taichou?”

“I have here a letter for you,” said Byakuya. He slid it across the surface. “It's an official pardon from the newly installed Central 46.”

“I did nothing wrong to warrant a pardon.”

“It's also a pardon for all of those under your care,” continued Byakuya as if the blond man hadn't spoken. “Including one Tsukabishi Tessai, one Tsumugiya Ururu, and one Hanakari Jinta. They are now free to live in Soul Society without fear of persecution.”

Kisuke smiled thinly. “I see. They have chosen to appear magnanimous.”

“Please understand that the Central 46 cannot overturn a ruling one hundred and ten years ago.”

“Please understand that I do not give a fuck,” returned Kisuke smoothly. “The kids? They don't need pardons because they've broken no law.”

“They're not supposed to exist.”

“That's the part where Soul Society is in the wrong.” Kisuke pulled out a chair and sat facing Byakuya. “Tessai did nothing wrong other than to attempt to save lives. He needs no pardon.”

“He used kido spells that were outlawed.”

“I don't need a pardon as the original crime I was accused of was committed by one Aizen Sousuke. I did nothing wrong.”

Byakuya held the stare impassively. “I was also tasked to extend the captaincy of the twelfth division to you, on condition that Kurotsuchi Nemu becomes your lieutenant.”

Kisuke's brows furrowed. “Mayuri?”

“Dead last evening. The poisons could not be nullified and he took his own life rather than admit another scientist's superiority.” Byakuya's tone hadn't wavered from the start of the conversation. “Ukitake-soutaichou wished for no one to say that this was offered because of friendship.”

Kisuke had to chuckle at that. Dear Jyuushiro, still so concerned about how others perceived him. “I see. Ukitake, Kurosaki and Kyoraku are out, as are Soi Fon, due to Yoruichi's influence. Abarai and Hisagi both stayed with me for a time, that rules them out also. Hitsugaya would have been considered if his romantic interest wasn't my lover's sister. Komamura would have been ideal except for our past tutelage under Yamamoto together. So they found the Ice Emperor to talk to me. I should be honored: you are a captain after all.”

“Think over the offer. I need a reply by the end of tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Kisuke folded his arms. “Jyuu-chan said a few days.”

Byakuya stood up. “I do not wish to impose on you or Ichigo more than necessary.”

Amuzed, Kisuke leaned forward. “You called him Ichigo.”

Byakuya's alabaster cheeks pinked slightly and he swept out of the kitchen. Kisuke's smile faded and he looked at the letter of appointment.

Twelfth division and Research Bureau. These were what he had longed for all these decades. These were his babies, his own conceptualizations brought to fruition. The pardons he put aside, meaning to talk to Tessai about them tomorrow, but the captaincy...

It had soured, the way he had been framed and how the captaincy was torn from him. It had been a position he worked hard for, prayed for. It was, very probably, the only thing in his life prior to exile that he had ever put in effort for, real effort.

But to go back to being a shinigami meant giving up all he had attained here. It would mean giving up Ichigo. Ichigo would probably say something along the lines of becoming a shinigami along with him, but that he would not allow. Ichigo had his entire life to live out until his death – no one was to take it away from him, not even Kisuke.

Kisuke rested his head on the table, remembering how exhilarating it felt when Ichigo was pounding into him, right at the table, the feel of Ichigo's hands pulling at the apron strings. If he got back to Seireitei, would that mean he had to stop creating such memories?

“Ah, Ukitake Jyuushiro you bastard, why send me this headache?”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ichigo was channel flipping when Kisuke came into the den, carefully sliding the door shut. “Hey,” he said, sitting up straight. “You alright?”

“Yes. Well, all right enough.” Kisuke rubbed his nose into Ichigo's neck. “Turn up the volume, hmm?”

“Why?”

As an answer Kisuke nipped at the smooth skin on Ichigo's nape, then yanked the long-sleeved striped tee over the young man's head. “Unless you want Byakuya to hear you.”

“Hear us, you mean,” corrected Ichigo even as he turned up the volume.

“I won't be making much noise,” drawled Kisuke wickedly. “My mouth would be otherwise preoccupied.”

Ichigo blushed furiously when he worked out what Kisuke had said. “Let go, I'm gonna sleep in my own bed – mmph!”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Trying his best to ignore the canned laughter from the appliance blaring downstairs, Byakuya turned over to his left and sighed. Kisuke didn't have to broadcast his ownership of Ichigo in such an obvious way.

 


	15. 15.

“I think it's a bad idea.” Yoruichi, for once clothed and human, sat with her arms akimbo. “Becoming human? You're forcing yourself into something you're not.”

Kuukaku puffed on her pipe, her large eyes examining Kisuke opposite. “Just for the boy?”

Kisuke sighed. “Not really, no. But I don't see why you two came all the way over just to tell me you doubt my decision.”

“Because it's a dumb decision, that's why,” snarled Yoruichi. “Ichigo is human, so he ought to live and die as a human, but you are a shinigami! If you stepped out of that gigai now you can still recover. Kisuke, please think it over. You're gonna age and have wrinkles and sag and your sex drive will slow and you're gonna need Viagra if you stay human!”

“Whoa,” Kisuke held up both palms, “why is aging such a bad thing? We age in Soul Society too, y'know. Just slower. We have to face death too, and this time I want to do so with the person I love.”

Kuukaku tilted her head, puffs of smoke drifting up and dissipating. “What if you get sick of him in two years? Five? Ten? Twenty?”

The blond shopkeeper sighed. “Girls, do you think I'm leaping into a risk without calculating the odds? Is that what I am?”

“No,” Yoruichi snorted derisively, “but you are an occasionally hormone-blinded idiot who can't see the sky for the clouds.”

“Hormone-blinded idiot? I'm more than rational enough for any three beings you care to name.”

The other female only smoked leisurely, her eyes half-lidding as they did to lull her companions into thinking she was off in her own world. Kisuke would have bet a bottle of premium sake on Kuukaku being able to repeat what Yoruichi and he said, word for word.

Finally Kuukaku tapped out her pipe ash. “Yoruichi, shut up. I want to listen to Kisuke.”

She was probably the only person who could do that to Yoruichi without being thrashed afterwards. Being from similar backgrounds, along with a history of battling side by side through some of the most vicious conflicts and their shared love of pranks on the high and mighty bonded them close as sisters. Kuukaku never held a zanpakuto, having disdained the Gotei after her brother's death, but she was the only one who dared succor Yoruichi without fear when she traveled into Soul Society.

“Ladies, this is unnecessary.” Kisuke shifted on the cushion he sat on. It was time to buy new ones. “I love Ichigo. I want to grow old with him, not have him move with the passing of time and leaving me behind. I have existed in this plane for a long time, and I think I ought to try being human for once. Does that satisfy you?”

Gradually, Kuukaku smiled. “You're gonna be sick and tired of him after a year.”

“I won't,” replied Kisuke. His voice softened. “I am not a child, to be blinded by infatuation. Ichigo's character and mine mesh well. He needs someone to give him laughter and to guide him; I need someone to show me direct action and selflessness.” His gray eyes turned to Yoruichi. “We _fit_ , Yoruichi. We _fit_ together, and we make each other better people. You couldn't have said that back when we were together. Or when I was with Sousuke.”

“Sousuke was a bastard,” growled Yoruichi, her tone darkening. “Slaughtered half my troops...”

Kisuke interrupted, “That was after. Back when he and I were together, we were in competition, always pulling each other down. It was unhealthy.” He sighed.

Kuukaku was more than aware of the complicated cycle that had gone on before – she had been the one to knock sense into Kisuke's head, thrown him back on his knees to Sousuke, who had then paraded him to Yoruichi's without even listening to his apologies. Sousuke's famed patience had snapped by then.

“Long story short,” surmised Yoruichi, “you gave up near-immortality to be with the brat because of your hormones.”

Kisuke was about to take umbrage when he thought the situation over. It was late. There was one irate former lover and one knowing friend. Both were women who could beat him to a pulp and were also capable of grounding a topic to nubbins. Rapid calculations flashed through Kisuke's mind, and all the equations ended up zero. He was not going to win any argument with well-thought-out points.

He cracked open his fan and wafted gentle breezes towards his face. “Yuh-huh.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Ichigo shuffled over to the left with a few tired grunts. “The Female Inquisition finally released you?” he slurred sleepily, waiting for his older lover to settle and then curled into Kisuke's side.

“Thankfully, yes.” Kisuke gritted his teeth as one of his knees creaked. The gigai was too stiff. “I can't believe Yoruichi dragged Kuukaku along with her and woke me at one in the morning for this. And it's almost... shit, it's almost four.”

“I can, uh, provide a few Dobermans and Rottweilers for her place, y'know,” the redhead yawned and snuggled closer. “Just say the word.”

“Tempting,” murmured Kisuke, “but I think I'll let her live.”

It was cold enough to be cuddling, thankfully. No doubt in the full heat of summer Ichigo would kick Kisuke to sleep in the basement so the young man could hog the air-conditioned room to himself. The blond let his fingers trail through soft orange hair and lowered his lids. It was restful to sleep next to Ichigo: someone else's breathing, a warm body that restricted his movements, and the occasional sneaky groping.

Perhaps 'restful' was not the word to use.

The house squeaked and groaned as the wood contracted from the loss of heat. Kisuke felt his lids grow heavier and, with one last sniff of Ichigo's hair, fell asleep.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Grimmjow was yawning as he opened the door to the large house. “I just came back,” he complained. “Even Tatsuki has the sense to give me a day to catch up with my sleep.”

“Sorry to disappoint then,” Ichigo grinned. “Oh wait, I'm not.'

“Asshole.”

Ichigo strode in and headed straight for the kitchen. He began stuffing food into the refrigerator, aware that Yuzu sometimes forgot that people liked unhealthy snacks now and then. Karin had sent a message (more like an SOS), bemoaning the lack of ice cream in the new residence and Yuzu's 'Kitchen Nazi' approach. The only persons Yuzu would not throw out of _her_ kitchen were Ururu and Ichigo.

_Aizen stood against a counter, staring blankly at a pot._

_Ichigo joked, “I thought a watched pot never boils.”_

_The joke fell flat. Aizen merely blinked once. “Does that hold true for a dying man? Because I would never let him out of my sight then.”_

Grimmjow leaned against the door. “Eh, I heard from Tessai that he was headin' back to Soul Society?”

“There's a job opening for a man of his abilities,” said Ichigo.

“How about Urahara? Did he get a job offering too?”

Ichigo straightened. “He did.”

“And?”

“He turned it down.”

Grimmjow chuckled. “Thought as much.”

Ichigo scowled. “It's stupid.”

“Hmm?” The teal-haired former Espada cocked an eyebrow at Ichigo. “Why's that? He's a grown man, he's made the decision.”

“I keep feeling like I'm the one made him decide this course of action,” Ichigo muttered. With Grimmjow, he seldom guarded his innermost feelings. Perhaps because they had tried to kill each other many times before and almost succeeded, or maybe because Ichigo thought of him as a blend of Tatsuki and Chad and an insane homicidal maniac. “And I feel guilty, of all things.”

The taller young man - he was human now, for all intents and purposes – ran a large hand through his mop of unruly blue hair. “You should. He chose to live a nondescript human life, having to earn a living and pay taxes and fall sick and grow older and eventually die. That's because of you.”

“And here I thought you'd offer some comforting words,” said Ichigo dryly.

“Eh, I don't do that comforting shit. Leave that to the pretties.” Grimmjow stretched and placed his hands behind his head. “But you ought to feel honored. Don't you?”

“Honored?”

“Hell, he's a former captain, a fuckin' genius and insanely devious shopkeeper with all sorts of blackmail material. That man manipulated half of Soul Society, fought the other half, and managed to strike a bargain with those who wanted his blood,” Grimmjow listed. “And we've both faced his bankai. You know he's powerful and probably a match for even that Aizen bastard. You don't feel honored, being chosen by him? I would, and I'm not a fag.”

“I guess that's one way of looking at it.” Ichigo nibbled his lower lip, not certain if he could change his perspective. Never mind: that could be put aside. He had a long time to change his thoughts; Kisuke wasn't going anywhere.

_:That just gave you a happy, King.:_

_It did?_

_:Sunny days, sweeping the clouds away...:_ For a hollow it had a pretty interesting voice, though Ichigo believed that if his hollow had sung the theme song, Sesame Street would be a show requiring Parental Guidance. _:On my way to where the air is sweet...:_

“Hey,” Grimmjow yawned again, “let yourself out, okay? Kinda bushed.”

“I thought you got back in the afternoon yesterday.”

Grimmjow lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “Your point being?”

The redhead snorted. “You'd better be using protection.”

“Shut up.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Kisuke sneezed. Tessai paused. “Are you coming down with a cold?”

“No,” said Kisuke, waving his friend off. “I'll visit you when the gigai is more settled.”

Tessai bowed. “It has been an honor here with you, boss. I leave the children in your capable hands.”

The shopkeeper grinned uneasily. “Why does that sound like a threat, Tessai-san?” He lowered his hat half an inch and added, “Of course. They are as my own flesh and blood. More so since I can't have any. Won't have any.”

Yoruichi, again in her feline form, sat stiffly on a rock. “I still don't approve.”

“Thankfully I don't need it,” Kisuke retorted. “Though you're certainly old enough to be my mother.”

“You-”

“Children, children,” said Kuukaku with a yawn. “Grow up, hmm? Yoruichi, drop it. Kisuke knows what the fuck he's doing.”

“Yeah right.” Yoruichi unsheathed and sheathed her claws.

Kisuke stifled a spark of annoyance. “Bye now. Don't come back till you're past the monthly, Yoruichi. Or are you undergoing menopause? Because I know a gynecologist who works for Ishida's father-”

A scratch across his fan – intended for his face – and the cat was striding off, her tail erect in the air. “Don't come crying to me when you realize you made the wrong decision,” she called back. “Moron!”

Kisuke shut the fan. Sometimes it was hard being Yoruichi's friend, especially when her possessiveness flared up at the oddest moments. Kuukaku patted his shoulder and conveyed her support before loping into the Senkaimon. Tessai hefted his suitcase and tugged another large sack behind.

“Don't be a stranger now,” said Kuukaku from inside the doorway. “Drop in and I'll put on a fireworks show for ya!”

“Free?”

“Ten percent discount!”

Kisuke, grinning widely, showed her the finger as a response and she laughed raucously and bounded into Soul Society.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dinner at the new house was strange.

Tatsuki acted as the lady of the household, chivying the rest around as she cooked. Grimmjow was the head of the household, snapping at Jinta to behave and set the table while brandishing his own set of sushi knoves. Ururu and the twins were at the game console, and Karin was losing spectacularly to Ururu at _Go Go Hirako!_ It was one of the earliest sets that rolled off the assembly line: Hirako Shinji decided to turn his, quote, “unbelievably forward-looking visionary sense of style”, unquote, into his personal brand and marketed himself as a spokesperson. With his exaggerated reactions and chemistry with Hiyori, the pair had broken into the gaming world and made _Go Go Hirako_ a household name.

Ichigo privately thought the success was because of Hirako's cartoonish appearance, and also for the way the game character Hirako made an amusing _splatch_ sound when he was hit by a flying slipper courtesy of Evil Sporting Gear Queen Hiyori.

“So anyway, I was telling father and mother and they're alright with me moving out,” said Tatsuki, “but only because I don't have to pay rent.”

“You mean they are fine with you staying here to watch over the children-”

“-we're not children!” yelled Jinta, Ururu and the twins in unison.

“- the very immature children and also with Grimmjow?”

Tatsuki shrugged expressively. There might have been a faint blush, but Ichigo couldn't tell. “He's been over a few times for dinner. They think he's good for me, keep me in line and, well, he is a devilishly good cook.”

“I wouldn't put it past him to drug his cooking,” put in Ichigo. He was stirring the soup and adding tofu cubes. “And you have the oddest parents anywhere. If he was my sister's boyfriend, I'll kick his ass into a brand new shape and then disembowel him, just in case.” He raised his voice. “You can relay that to Toushiro also!”

“Not listening!” Karin retorted from the den.

Kisuke laughed. His stir-fried vegetables were already up and the grilled saba fish was almost ready. “Nah, Ichigo, it's not wise to interfere with other people's love lives now.” They shared a glance and ichigo smiled and ducked his head.

Grimmjow grunted. “New rule: no PDA while we're cooking.”

“Grimmjow,” warned Tatsuki with an admonitory finger..

The tall man smiled in a feral manner and caught her hand. “Except for me and Suki,” he amended and glared at Kisuke and Ichigo, who rolled his eyes.

Ichigo sipped the soup. It was ready. “You need to keep him on a short leash, Tatsuki.”

“Why, you plan to lend us yours?” Tatsuki zinged back, and Grimmjow laughed loudly. “Throw in the collar too, will ya?”

The redhead made a face at the chuckling couple. “You deserve each other,” he told them. “Bad influences, both of you.”

“I found the Invisible Jumpsuit!” Karin cheered from where she sat. “Yeah – WHOA.”

“Whoa what?” Ichigo strolled over and then his eyes widened. He grabbed the remote for the screen and clicked it off, all in a fluster. “No wonder the first version was pulled off the shelves!”

Yuzu giggled. “But he was so cute!” Ururu agreed, her large doe eyes twinkling with merriment.

“Yuzu!” Ichigo was scandalized. This was what came of growing up. He should just bundle her into Seireitei and keep her at the same age forever. But considering the shinigami and their weird shenanigans... nah.

They sat around the table. Jinta slumped over. “I miss Tessai-san already,” he murmured.

Kisuke ruffled his hair. “We'll visit next weekend, alright?”

The boy brightened. Ichigo smiled and nudged his lover's foot with his own, and soon their ankles joined as they finished their meal in convivial chatter.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

They sat on the roof, staring at the night sky. Ichigo was in Kisuke's embrace, leaning against his chest and enjoying the steady heartbeat. The blond wrapped his arm tighter when a gust of chill wind blew past.

“Kisuke,” said Ichigo, shifting to look at him. “I... the decision you made, um. I, erm... I feel, I feel... that um. Ah, screw it.” Ichigo twisted about and placed a hot kiss on Kisuke's mouth. The blond man was surprised, but welcomed Ichigo's questing tongue and gentle lips. After a moment or two, Ichigo pulled away. “There. That's what I wanted to say.”

Kisuke touched his young lover's cheek and then leaned forward to peck him on the nose. “I love you too.”

Ichigo blushed and scooted back a little. Tried to anyway; he overbalanced and tumbled over down the roof. Flaiiling about Ichigo grabbed the first thing his hand encountered, and dragged Kisuke down as well.

When they finally extracted themselves from the tangle of limbs and bushes, Kisuke took one look at Ichigo's irate face and burst out laughing. “You... it was just a kiss!”

“Yes, yes,” sighed the redhead. “I'm an idiot. Get used to it: you've already bought the merchandise and it's non-refundable.”

“I wouldn't exchange it for the world,” whispered Kisuke, changing the mood swiftly and pulling Ichigo back into a hug. “I love you.”

“I...” Ichigo swallowed and muttered the words into Kisuke's neck, near his left ear. He then took the opportunity to nip the shell to repay him for the laugh, but Kisuke swung Ichigo over his shoulder, firefighter-style, and ran inside the house, ignoring protests and complaints.

After a while, there were no more sounds beyond that of fabric and the impact of bodies on futons.

_XxXxXxXxXxXxX_

_XxXxXxXxXxXxX_

_XxXxXxXxXxXxX_

_XxXxXxXxXxXxX_

Gavin Kent stretched his arms out and rolled his shoulders. “Adrien, why on earth must we move halfway across the world just so you can finish that damn book? We could have stayed in San Fran.”

“I do have to spend a semester at the university here, Gavin,” Adrien soothed his platinum-blond lover. “But at least I found us a house which is quiet and out of the way, so you can concentrate on your paintings.”

Gavin almost pouted. It was almost irritating, the way Adrien always found some way to make things easier on him. Yet letting Adrien settle here in Japan by himself was unacceptable – having found his brown-haired lover, there was no way Gavin was leaving him to the snares of others.

Not that Adrien would fall for those traps, of course. The man was too smart for them. But knowing there would be traps irked Gavin.

The house Adrien had rented was a sprawling one-story, in the traditional style and a tall fir stood in front of the house, obscuring the interior from casual eyes. A much older man, probably in his fifties, was standing at the gate, idly tapping a cane against his leg.

Adrien squeezed Gavin's hand once before striding up to the man. “Hello. I'm Adrien Bryce Emrick, the professor who contacted you three weeks ago.”

The older blond man was staring at Adrien. Gavin would have bristled, except the man was not ogling Adrien's good looks but staring as if he had seen a dead man. He recovered when Gavin took one step forward though. “Good afternoon. These are your keys and here is a map of the neighborhood, should you need anything. Shall we go in?”

“Certainly. Gavin?” He gestured for Gavin to precede him.

The blond realtor's – Gavin assumed it was the realtor – his phone rang. He flipped it open and answered. “Hey. Yes, they're here. Are you coming by? Alright. Alright. You too.” He then turned to Adrien and Gavin. “The owner is coming over in about half an hour's time. He can clarify any doubt you may have.”

“It's perfect,” said Gavin, surprising himself. But he felt at home here, the instant he stepped in. “It's really wonderful. Where is the cat?”

“Cat?” asked the realtor. “I... I don't think there has been a cat here for a long time.”

Gavin frowned. “Hmm. Well, tomorrow I'll go to the pound and adopt one. What do you think, Adrien?”

“A black one?”

“Mm-hmm. And we'll call it Snowy for in-your-face irony,” Gavin added cheekily. He wandered about the main room.

Adrien watched him for a few seconds before turning back to his contact. “Mr, erm, Mr Urahara, how long has it been since someone stayed here?”

“Two, three years ago,” said Mr Urahara. “They had to leave for Mexico. They're good friends of mind, if rather rowdy – so are their kids – so I'm still trying to get used to the silence in this house.”

The brown-haired man smiled. “I'm sure the silence won't bother me.” He looked over and saw Gavin seated on the floor, leaning against the door. Gin was sleepy, obviously; he was snoozing where he leaned against.

They talked of more inconsequentialities until the owner ran into the house. “I'm sorry I'm late,” he said, bowing a few times, “the project team lost their data. They had to restart the calculations.” He was a slightly younger man than Mr Urahara, and his orange hair was quite striking for a businessman.

“No problem,” answered Mr Urahara, standing up and smiling at the owner. “Ichigo, this is Mr Adrien Emrick, the one I mentioned some time ago. He'll be living here, with Mr Gavin Kent over there. Mr Emrick, this is Mr Kurosaki.”

Again that startled gaze: Mr Kurosaki found him and Gavin fascinating, it appeared, and it wasn't due to their being _gaijin_. Still, they were here for business. “If you have the lease papers, Mr Kurosaki.”

“Oh, right. Here.” Mr Kurosaki pulled out a thin binder with the document imaging sheet within. The papers were signed in rapid order, and Adrien shook their hands.

“Thank you again. I will take good care of this house.” The Englishman nodded at both men. It was evident they were lovers too: the discreet touch of their hands, the few shared glances, their identical fragrances. That would explain why they were willing to lease to a gay couple, professor or not.

After they had left, Adrien went to wake Gavin. “Love, get up. You'll hurt your neck sleeping here.”

Gavin blinked green-blue eyes open languidly. “Aizen-sama?”

“Hmm?”

“Mmm,” Gavin sat up and covered his mouth. “I need to sleep.” They made their way to the bed. It was already made in pristine white sheets. Gavin made a fuss over sleeping with his clothes on, but since the heater was not checked yet Gavin gave in to Adrien's gentle scolding.

“You'll sleep early?” asked Gavin. “You know I dislike being in strange surroundings by myself.”

“I know.” Adrien grinned and kissed his silver-haired lover on the cheek. “Rest, love. I'm here with you.”

 


End file.
